In her kiss I taste the revolution
by PrideBraveLioness
Summary: "Arrogant boy. Loving yourself so nobody else has to." Post-War fic. Back for the last year to graduate. Head Boy - Head Girl, but actually like...Good? Give it a try.
1. PIANO

**So! This is actually a co-writing thing that I have going with a friend of mine. We got really into it and decided that if we enjoyed it so much that maybe everyone else would too. Be sure to head to her FF which is coddiwomple** **to give her props and read her stories as well. She was writing as Hermione here and I as Draco. Welp. Without anything else. I hope you enjoy!**

 **HERMIONE** :

Hazel eyes chased inked ghosts and dust trails across the page, sinking the words deep into her subconscious. It was the religion and she, the hollow, fettering knowledge across neurons and dipping her into a world foreign, yet calm and familiar. Her wand was in her lap. She felt more comfortable with it close to her. Tucked under her blanket, yet still in her hand. Her attention was eventually brought to the stiffness of it, firm in her grip. She realized then that she was gripping it almost with white knuckles. The frustration of this fact pulled her out of the desired 'reading' state she had taken forever to merge herself into.

Hermione closed the book too abruptly, even for her own liking. It made her jump. With a trembling, half-cocked huff, the witch lifted herself from the bed, ignoring Crookshanks' mewls of protest as he had been laying on her feet. She shut her door behind her to quiet him. Her bare feet padded along noiselessly as she breached the top of the stairs leading down into the common area. When she saw nothing but dying embers, her grip relaxed upon the hilt of her wand. She re-ignited the flames to give her a bit more light and cautiously ventured down to the final destination of a fleeting attempt at comfort: the piano.

Of course, Hermione was stiff as a board while she settled herself onto the seat, tentatively placing her wand upon the bench beside her. Thin, bony fingers lifted the lid and her eyes watched the placement of her fingers. Rigid. Stoic. She began plucking away the tune of _Nocturne in C# Minor_. A Chopin classic, but hardly played with the same amount of heart. The timing was perfect, each note perfectly placed, but her statuesque poise hardly warranted any emotional movement. Beautiful, and without soul. A melodic contradiction between player and instrument.

 **DRACO** :

Sleep was not something that came easily. It was sort of like a rabbit that stayed just close enough for it to be seemingly possible to catch before running away. There was snide remarks made by the others of his house about his looks due to the lack of sleep. The way his eyes always seemed too sunken in with the dark circles heavy beneath them and his attitude on a thread of agitation and sharpness.

It had become a routine now for him to get up during the night. The air was always cold and he swore that it was thin too. It wouldn't be a surprise given how high up the dorms were. It crossed his mind in jest that perhaps the Headmistress intended him to suffocate. She would have to get in line behind the others.

As a child there was a lesson taught very young that Purebloods were to walk with grace. His Mother had always reprimanded him for thumping his feet and although he wasn't consciously aware of it he barely made any noise when he walked anywhere. Making the nightly venture down to the common area wasn't any different.

Perhaps he would have turned around and went right back up those stairs if he had seen her before he heard the sounds of the piano playing. He was rigid at the bottom and tight limbs didn't move an inch until his own curiosity trumped over his want to avoid her.

Her back is facing him and thick curls surely block any peripheral vision of him entering. Muggle things were never well taken in his household but his Mother had always made an exception for composers. She used to whisper that it was the only thing Muggles seemed to get right. He hadn't known she played the piano because she certainly hadn't expressed it until now. Her fingers moved in almost a robotic fashion and he can't help but feel the need to tell her that this piece requires someone who isn't rigid as a board. He refrains and leans against the doorway without speaking or even bothering to announce himself to the room.

That is until she's finished. "Your **_posture_** is wrong, you know." He convinces himself that it's his need to show her up that makes his body move forward, long legs finding him beside her and finally with a moment of hesitation he sits on the bench. "I would have thought someone who was so studious in education would know how that piano is based heavily on emotion. " His words are sharp and sneered out as if trying to illicit some sort of response that he was so used to. Her huffing or snapping back at him. "Let me?" He doesn't understand why he asks her permission to play. But he does and his eyebrows raise to her as if waiting for her fingers to be removed from the keys impatiently.

 **HERMIONE** :

Each trill and chord lulled her into a more serene state of mind, though her form was about as relaxed as a suit of armor. Shoulders stiff, back straight, and chin low, studying her movements as she would the pages of a book. Already, she had calculated several flaws in her form, through lack of practice. In a way, it drew her out of the peaceful place her heart had entered. She found herself growing a little more static throughout the piece, disappointed in the structure of herself. As she drew the song to a close, she released a bated breath, at least somewhat satisfied with how she had finished the tune.

Until his voice drew her out of the stupor like nails on a chalkboard, causing her to slap a few random keys as she whipped her head around to face him, glaring hard. Her shoulders were hunched now, much like a lioness ready to pounce. Her glare was more than palpable. As if the next sentence helped relieve any of the tension. If Hermione had not been stiff as a board before, she certainly was now. But even as she huffed and opened her mouth to shoot back a snarky comment, he had interrupted her with… something rather unexpected.

She said nothing, watching warily as he slid onto the bench next to her. Her chin tilted upwards with pride.

"For your information, the piano is one of the instruments that requires the most structure," she replied, shifting away from Draco to permit him space. "Something I doubt you understand very much about, but by all means." For a most sardonic emphasis, she waved her hand in the direction of the ebony and ivory, hating how symbolic she suddenly found them. "Give it a go."

 **DRACO** :

A scoff is on his lips before she's even finished her sentence. "Structure and sheer stiff _lifelessness_ are two very different things. " **Give it a go.** He hated the way her words could illicit the anger that bubbled in his chest. **_Give it a go_**. Just when he was beginning to think that when she wasn't talking nor moving nor looking at him she was decent enough. Grey eyes are narrowed slightly in her direction before they rest on the piano itself. There were multiple choices of instrument in childhood. He could have learned the violin or perhaps the cello. Wizards he had to admit were quite a deal better at musical talent but there was a nagging sensation of curiosity in youth and he couldn't help but fulfill it with looking over Muggle composers.

It's warm in the common area but sitting beside her he's never felt so cold. It's as if someone poured ice water down his back and it took his restraint not to shiver. He begins to play with fingers moving over the keys with a skill that can only be bred from a childhood of forced lessons. It's not sure if he begins to play something Muggle to appease her or perhaps shove it in her face that a Wizard who was so terribly biased against blood was playing Clair de Lune.

His jaw tightens and it exaggerates the sharpness of his Malfoy features. They were all sharp lines and even sharper personality. His body sways with his playing and his limbs appear to get looser as he continues. He would be damned if he admitted to having fun in the presence of Granger but it was tolerable. Barely. He finishes with a slow exhale of breath and finally he looks over to her with the smugness that only he can pull off so perfectly. " _That_ is how you play. I hope you jotted down notes."

 **HERMIONE** :

It hurt that she was reminded strictly of her mother when the keys were struck, nearly wrenching her heart out of her chest directly. Hermione had never been under the impression that a simple melody could make an organ snap so hard, so rapid against the marrow bars of her ribcage; to the point where she was sure it would burst free, fall into the very hands of Draco Malfoy, and pray for gentleness.

She managed to cover up her lost breath with a small clearing of her throat, waiting almost impatiently for the tune to end.

Naturally, she was in a sublime shock as his talents proved worthy of her own. By the close of the piece, in a state of both pleasant shock and relief, Hermione puffed a few stray hairs from her eyes and had _almost_ opened her mouth to compliment him. However, whatever kind words she might have balanced idly upon the tip of her tongue fluttered away the millisecond he began to speak, chalk full of that traditional Malfoy arrogance that made her loathe him so.

Hermione's cheeks went unmistakably red, almost mirroring the very maroon of the Gryffindor flag itself. Her glare was poignant. Sharp. It could have cut him, if not for the sudden blaze of flames in her eyes. Tempered chocolate, perhaps, but menacing nonetheless. He wanted to play that game? Fine. She could win with the best of them.

Saying nothing, she forcibly shuffled closer so she could get her place on the keys. Now she was practically soldered to his side, hands at the ready.

"Do try to keep up," she snapped, a few stray curls falling into her eyes as she took up her stiff posture again. With that readiness came the painfully familiar, expert plucking of _Carol of the Bells_.

 **DRACO** :

He felt proud in the fact that he had made her red in the face. It was so easy to do after all. Gryffindors were the absolute easiest to rile up and each emotion they felt was so blatantly spread across her face. She looked immediately so determined to prove something and he wouldn't be the one to stand in her way. He pretended not to notice the closeness now and he wonders when that was acceptable. When had he found no issue in her proximity? It wasn't lingered on long because she began to play again.

This time it was much faster and more violent, fingers dancing along the keys with that need to be the best at what she was doing. It was a trait he had loathed all through school as he watched her raise her hand whenever someone else did just so she could bark out the answer first. He had always muttered about her being a stuck up bitch back then. Now he simply wondered what had transpired to make her so needy for that validation.

But this? It was pure competitive drive. Slytherins were merciless in competitions but it was usually handled with a tight smile and passive aggressive movements. She had the fire of someone scorned who wanted to overpower the one she had been agitated by. He had seen her like this before but of course... he had gotten his nose broken a few seconds afterward. He still held a small scar that had to be squinted at to be noticed right at the bridge of his nose.

Agitation ripples across the back of his neck as his fingers touch the keys and without another thought he's playing along with her. The music is rich and absolutely riveting as they float through the common area with a much stronger passion now that two people who were trying to actively show one another up were pounding on the keys. The arrangement was a bit difficult at first but in this case he was following her lead. It wasn't hard to make it work with the both of them and as they're finishing and he's breathing a bit heavier he can't help but chuckle under his breath.

"Perhaps you're **_decent_** enough. I'll give you credit for that."

 **HERMIONE** :

Suddenly, everything was fire. Fingers flying over keys, keeping time with the rapid rhythms of their hearts, and both attempting feebly to maintain their spots on the shared bench, occasionally inching one another to the side, sometimes without even meaning to. Hermione, of course, had a harder time, since Malfoy was a bit larger in build than herself. It didn't matter. This had been a competition spanning over years, and the showdown had abruptly shown itself to them.

Her mind was no longer on the form, but the heat. Passion tore through her like a rogue bludger and by the end of the piece, mirroring Malfoy's chuckle, she was grinning with pride. Her face hidden behind a curtain of curls, still with her cheeks red, but for all different reasons. Hermione cleared her throat when she realized almost pathetically that she had not smiled like this in quite some time. Softly, she laughed to herself, not even allowing the veracity of this epiphany to weigh her shoulders down.

"That's what I thought," she said. Though the comment was meant to be spiteful, she was still smiling to herself, so the tone seemed more playful. She reached up to shimmy her fingers through her hair, pulling the mane of curls back from her face. Hermione wanted to play again, but this time, she wanted something softer. Her fingers splayed over the keys, a little tender from pounding so hard on the ivory before. "I'm not sure if you know this one." Her tone was a little softer now, barely above a whisper, as though she wasn't sure if the words should have been spoken at all.

Perhaps that release had its effect on her after all. Nostalgia crept through her, right down to the very marrow of her bones. Contrary to her formerly rigid stature, her eyes closed. Her fingers began tickling the ivories again, light and sweet. Brian Crane had been a personal favorite of her father's, and _At the Ivory Gate_ was the first masterpiece Hermione had been determined to learn. She played it for him on his forty-eighth birthday. Maybe this was why she managed to sway a little bit with the tune, but she had stopped when she realized she was doing it and opened her eyes just for a moment to look at her fingers. Still, she left the lower half of the piano open, should the pianist to her left decide he wanted to join in.

 **DRACO** :

He found his adam's apple bobbing when she laughed. It was strange, to say the least. He had heard her laughter of course from a distance with Potter and Weasley but it was never so close. Never directed to him or anything he had been a part of. The thought would once have given him pride but now? He had to admit that the laughter invaded his head. Made him almost stifling in its heat. That or her proximity? He found he was rather interested in the way she laughed. It was different from Pansy or Daphne in the sense that it wasn't as sharp and precise. She wasn't laughing to impress or hold something above another. She laughed because she was happy and the added weight of that was that she was in his presence.

It was the middle of the night and they were alone. There weren't their houses or the school up in this bloody Tower above the clouds. For just once he allowed his jaw to relax. **That's what I thought**. He would have fired back with some retort he had ready but she had been smiling when she said it and perhaps he wanted to hear another piece before he unraveled her to tears. That was it, yes. He wanted to hear more music before things returned to the way they always were.

Her face was flushed and her hair much too big for any Pureblood's standards. She wouldn't have ever made it in their society and somehow he reveled in this fact. He enjoyed that she wouldn't have ever made it. He enjoyed that she would have been cast aside as too fire filled for any respectable Pureblooded husband. The problem was that he enjoyed it because he wouldn't have ever talked to a Granger born under different blood. He would never have acknowledged she even existed. His teeth were beginning to gnaw on the inside of his cheek and before he even realized it he was tasting blood.

She was right in the fact that he didn't recognize it until she had begun to play for a while. Obviously, this song held more meaning to her given her body language. He hadn't remembered who had originally performed it but he knew the softness of it. Perhaps he'd heard it once played at a shop or something along the lines. His fingers touch the keys and he follows her movement with an ease that isn't mastered when two people are strangers. Two people playing the piano needs chemistry. It needs the people who are playing to care about what they're doing.

 **HERMIONE** :

Aware of the second player, Hermione accommodated, allowing him to add any flourish where he saw fit. At this point, it felt so late into the night that she had almost forgotten just who was plucking away at the keys beside her. She stopped herself from considering it for too long, lest she loses this wondrous burst of creativity. Eons had passed since the last time she had felt so much of what she was playing. Occasionally, her eyes would close and she wouldn't realize it, or her gaze would flicker over to Malfoy's hands, and she would accentuate a small piece he attributed with one of her own.

The close of the piece almost felt like it had come too soon. She blinked her eyes open, not realizing that they had been shut for the remainder of the melody, but every piece of it was beautifully complimented in such a unique way that continuing it would have made them falter somehow. _All good things must end_ , she thought briefly, letting her fingers fall away from the keys. There was a brief moment where her expression appeared somewhat sullen, but she managed to shrug it away. Though the piece had been lovely, and something very dear to her, something about it felt melancholy.

Breathing in deeply through her nose, then outward, Hermione assessed the strangeness of this moment. What had begun as a rage shifted to competition, then became peace; something that she never thought she would have shared with someone like Malfoy. Still, she could not deny the brief glances she had managed in his direction, where he appeared more serene and captivated than she had ever seen before. Most of the time, his expressions were incredibly basic and straightforward: a sneer here, a scowl there. But while lost in his own world, eventually merging with hers, he appeared carefree and at peace. It was… strange.

"I'm going to make tea," she said, somewhat abruptly. Hermione drew herself up from the bench, ignoring how cold she suddenly felt as she ventured towards the small kitchenette and put on the kettle.

 **DRACO** :

The girl with a rigid posture and the sheer robotic movements of her fingers was gone. She had disappeared to leave way for the girl who poured herself into the music the way the piano should be played. He hadn't known the rest of the song she was playing but he made up for it in his variations that complimented the tune quite well. He always had an ear for knowing what notes could meld well together. Throat constricts when he misses a note just because he had been watching her hands with a sharper interest that he didn't quite give to his own movements. The mistake is fixed immediately and it would take someone very skilled to even hear he had slipped up at all.

When they had finally finished he felt something along the lines of disappointment. He hadn't known anyone else to play the piano and for a fleeting moment he felt like asking her to continue. Of course he remained silent and the silence was in a way comforting. It surrounded them with its thickness and he made no effort to speak lest he ruin the calm of the night. For once he realized that he didn't quite mind her presence in this way. Perhaps not when she was filled to the brim with quick remarks and that sickening urge to fix everything around her. But here in the room bathed in moonlight from the many windows and the silence that swallowed them whole? It wasn't completely awful.

They sat like that for what seemed like ages before her words bit through the silence. They were quicker this time not like the hushed tones whispered before she began to play and it almost startled him. She was up and gone before he could even say a thing and he found himself also standing with a slight tense of his jaw. If he was smart, he would go upstairs now. He'd leave her and her agitating being alone.

If he was ** _smart_**. He must have been a _fool_ because his legs took him to the kitchenette to lean in the doorway and watch her. It was brighter and he could actually observe her although her back was turned to him. She was so unashamed of the Muggle attire that was so easily donned in the presence of wizarding society. Personally, he wore simple pajama pants (green to be stereotypical) and a t-shirt that perhaps rode too high. Or was it that his pants rode too low? The point was that he was wearing wizarding tailored clothing and she so obviously was not. It was almost enough for him to snap at her for it and he might have if he had been paying more attention to words.

If he looked close enough he could see a few dots along her shoulder like the speckle of freckles. He wondered if they continued underneath the t-shirt and briefly wondered if Weasley knew that information. His jaw set in its usual hard structure as he cleared his throat. " _Four sugars. No cream._ " He was so blunt that he wanted her to make him a cup as well. It wasn't even a question.

 **HERMIONE** :

(You can thank Pan's Labyrinth's Lullaby for this moment.)

Hermione had almost thought that this would be simple; that perhaps she could get up to make tea and turn around and find him vanished. Up in his room, away from her. A part of her prayed for that brand of simplicity. Perhaps then, this night could be left perfect, and she wouldn't need to worry herself with the sobering fact that eventually, hatred would seep into them like a cancer and taint the atmosphere around them. A rivalry like the one they had could only remain dormant for so long. Hermione was coming to accept this, just as she was coming to accept the fact that Ronald's last letter had not possessed a single "miss you" or "love you" in it's singular, dreadfully short bit of parchment.

 _Four sugars. No cream_. The sternness in his voice put her hopefulness to rest, causing her to cast a brief glance over her shoulder. Her expression hidden behind a curtain of wild curls. She turned back to her task and reached into the cupboard just above the counter, next to the stove, and pulled out two mugs instead of one, causing her shirt to ride up her back just a sliver. Of course, Draco Malfoy was the very last person on this planet who would ever grant her peace. She even thought – almost comically – that she could be in the grave, serenely dead, and he would still be causing a racket in the afterlife.

Now, he was giving her his tea order instead of sulking away like usual.

As if she didn't know said tea order.

Hermione paid attention to small, insignificant details, even when she didn't want to. She had known Draco's tea preference since the very beginning. She remembered distinctly commenting on the fact that too much sugar could make him diabetic. That had unraveled into rivalry rather quickly.

Still, she said nothing, only beginning to hum as she prepped both mugs. The tune was, perhaps, unfamiliar to him, but in the honor of nostalgia – which appeared to be the theme of the evening – Hermione honored her mother with a very soft song. It was simple and without flourish; a lullaby that fit her voice rather well. Hermione was no professional when it came to singing. Her voice was soft and uncharacteristically sweet; the stuff of lullabies, not stage performances. She kept her back turned to him while she hummed, hoping for a moment that perhaps he would ignore her and go back to the piano. Leave her to her melancholy.

 **DRACO** :

She didn't say anything to him and in a way he was grateful. She could have called him out on the fact that he had stayed but she hadn't and in return he allowed himself to enter the kitchenette further. Her humming reminded him of the nights where his Mother would actually stay to tuck him in. She would always whisper some sweet song about some Wizard and his faithful cat. Something gentle and sweet and her voice had always sounded like liquid gold to him just dripping off to encircle him in some sort of warmth that their society never offered.

He had just been inching closer to make sure she didn't screw up. He liked it so specifically that he doubted she could really pull it off and so he loomed over her shoulder like a shadow. It wasn't because he wanted to see if she radiated the same heat that he felt when they were playing piano beside one another. It surely wasn't because he wanted to see if the scent of strawberries was stronger in her hair as opposed to the bathroom after she had showered. It was a toxic chemical smell he decided. Completely agitating and overpowering and he hated it but of course. . Never said anything.

"I saw you reading this morning. The fucking owl practically came bursting through the window like a brick so it sort of pulled my attention. " In reality he had always paid attention to her readings and habits. Perhaps something he could exploit later. "Judging by your reactions it was either Mummy and Daddy telling you how disappointed they are in you or it was Weasley and his absolute _knack_ of emotional _genius_ that he portrayed all throughout our schooling." The sarcasm drips off his words heavy and thick and then they just. .end. He had been waiting for himself to make a cutting remark.

Something along the lines of being happy for her suffering or enjoying the way her eyes watered reading the very words.

But no. Nothing.

 **HERMIONE** :

The sudden announcement of his presence made her jump, whipping her head to face the direction his voice was sounding from. Some of her wild curls smacked noiselessly against his chest, possibly hitting him with a wave of creamy strawberries; a scent that seemed to hold this tightly to her hair when she had kept it in a bun the whole day after a shower. Hermione would have leapt back, if she had any room to do so. His towering frame was practically blocking off access to any possible exit.

She immediately felt air to be painfully inaccessible.

Her brown eyes almost rolled into the back of her skull as he continued berating her, remaining tight-lipped for the most part. _Don't let him get to you_ , she thought, putting the notion on repeat. The words stung. They were half-truths. Things hadn't quite been the same with her parents since she had restored their memories. Her father refused to speak with her and her mother… well, the ambiance had shifted. In spite of her efforts to rebuild those bridges, she had lost their trust. She was paying for that now.

When Ronald was brought up in the conversation, Hermione smacked the spoon down upon the counter that she was using to prep her own mug first, shooting a glare over her bared, freckled shoulder at Malfoy. Embers in her eyes, fire on her tongue, and cheeks reddening inch by inch with more fervor by the second, she glowered.

"Not that it's any of your business, but Ronald has been rather busy with his training at the Ministry. I hardly blame him for not having the time to write me love letters all day," she snapped, though she didn't mean a single word she said. Hermione turned away, frustrated as she shimmied her fingers through her hair once more, habitually pulling it over one shoulder as she went back to preparing their mugs. She waited almost awkwardly for the kettle to whistle its readiness, tapping her fingers against the counter while a few stray curls fell out of place and tickled the bared half of her shoulder and neck.

 **DRACO** :

Yes. The smell was confirmed to be much stronger in her hair. He blamed her for the way it invaded his senses in the bathroom or in the common area thick in the blankets she'd curl herself in. Even here he blamed her for the fact that he couldn't smell anything else but her damned hair. Draco found himself being reminded of ivy or vines when he looked at it and briefly wondered if he'd ever get his hand back if it buried inside of the curls or if it'd entrap him. A death of bushy hair and strawberries.

How ironic it'd be.

Her glare was tight and filled with a flame that he reveled in bringing out of her. Slytherins were always different when it came to anger. It was harnessed and controlled while revenge was slowly being plotted in their heads. They made plans of a horribly aggressive degree. With her and most Gryffindors it was all quick actions and even quicker words. There was no denying the rage and how quickly it spilled from her skin and her lips and for a moment he wondered if her skin was truly like fire. If he reached out and touched her would he be burned?

He struck a chord. A slow growing smirk is plastered on his lips while he listens to her downright lie to him. How long would it take her to realize that he knew a damn lie when he heard one? That's all he was surrounded with during the War after all. "Funny. You **_almost_** convinced me."

His presence makes her uncomfortable and it's obvious by her body movement. She doesn't want him so close and in his agitation he uses it to his advantage. Making her angry or uncomfortable had always been his favorite pastime and he enjoyed rubbing salt into already open wounds. If he had been close before he was certainly close now and the true contrast of their skin tones was so obvious now that they were so obviously near one another. He looked like a ghost compared to her.

"You're sad. You want the Weasel to tell you how much he _loves_ you and _misses_ you. How it's difficult for him to go on without you there constantly. You feel that way about him don't you? Potter and Weasley aren't here and you feel like you're worthless without them. He doesn't feel that way about you, Granger. He's probably **_fucking_** some girl in his office at the Ministry after he's showed her all his pretty _hero_ medals."

Blood. It was thick in his mouth after his words because his teeth adored to dig into the skin of his cheek. A habit from youth surely. It was so ironic he tasted the copper of blood after so easily tearing into her insecurities.

 **HERMIONE** :

The fabric of his shirt was brushing against bare flesh of her shoulder, making her stiffen. Hermione felt a chill creep along her spine from the searing heat being generated between two bodies. She wanted to shove him away and flee for her own bedroom, but the more stubborn part of her overpowered any remote sliver of cowardice. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of breaking her down or making her run and hide. She was a Gryffindor, damn it!

Still, Hermione refused to look over her shoulder at him again. She could feel faint traces of his breath licking the side of her neck, hissing in her ear. She almost twitched, but forced herself to be still. He was so close, he could probably see her skin crawling and forming goosebumps in the wake of both rage and misery. She suppressed a shudder from the truth of the words, shedding a harsh light on the doubt she kept buried in her veins. Her chest tightened, suddenly straining to breathe.

It wasn't from how close he was. It wasn't. It was because of the agonizing epiphany Hermione was facing that Draco was actually _right_.

Each inch he sliced through between them was a harsh reminder that she was not going anywhere. Hermione barely had breathing room, which made her feel less like a proud lioness and more like a cornered mouse. The solid surface of the counter was no longer comforting support, but an obstacle she couldn't get around to run for the hills. She was becoming desperate.

The last comment was enough. Her rage reached its pinnacle. In an abrupt motion, she forcefully turned on her spot and raised a straight palm, stiff as a brick wall. Without another blind thought, she catapulted into action, aiming to send a cold, hard slap across his cheek in mute, agonizing defiance.

 **DRACO** :

Aunt Bellatrix had been a disgustingly mad woman but she had taught him the tells of human emotion. Had lulled him into the fact that everything can be exploited and everything had a tick to alert what the person you were toying with was feeling. He had trapped her against the counter and she was obviously feeling the effect of this as her breathing hitched up in speed and her fingers curled. Draco could feel the intoxicating rush of making her hurt and face the truth of his words. Oh how he adored being right.

And then that was all demolished.

 ** _SMACK._**

It's deafening in its sound and throbbing in the warmth that it gives his face. The sheer power of her slap had turned his head and he found himself staring at the ground for several long moments. _Silence._ His head slowly turned back to her and that was it. Every slice of anger that he had suppressed since returning to this wretched place had bubbled up to the surface and he had gripped her wrist so tightly that he was sure his fingers would bruise her skin. Now he didn't care about any space between them. He pressed her back hard into the counter with his body pinning her there in its larger stature and strength. He didn't care if she could feel the thumping of his heart and the heaving of his chest in his rage with grey eyes becoming clouded and pupils blown.

His face was inches from her own and he was breathing so heavily that he knows she could feel his breath on her lips. If he killed her he could cover it up easily enough. Fix her injuries and then push her body down the long flight of stairs. They got into a fight and she tried to run away and tripped. Tragic. One of the golden trio dead to something as harmless as steps. He stays like this with her for several long moments before his hand tightens on her wrist just light enough not to hear it snap but certainly close.

"If you _ever_ lay a _hand_ on me again I will finish what my Aunt could not. It isn't my fault that you can't face the truth when it's fucking staring you down. " Just when he thought it was impossible to get any closer he corrected himself. He was closer. So close that he could swallow her oxygen as his own just hoping that it was enough for her to drop dead. "He will never love you the way you love him. He needs an idiotic whore who can't see through his hero status to realize that he's simply a moronic bumbling idiot who got lucky in his choice of friends at a young age. You have more sense."

 **HERMIONE** :

Now, Hermione was biting her own cheek in sore attempts to dull the pain in her wrist. In a flash, she was pinned. If possible, feeling far more helpless than she had moments ago. The reality smacked her, just as hard as she had smacked him: _this wasn't fourth year anymore_. Malfoy was taller, broader, and war-torn. He wouldn't take her hits and run off to find some higher authority to fight his battles for him. Evident in the way he soldered himself ruthlessly to her, making her tailbone ache (and possibly bruise) against the edge of the counter. Hermione didn't even realize that she was mirroring his panting breaths, as if the violent flames ignited between them had sizzled away all and any amount of oxygen in this godforsaken tower.

All she had to do was reach over, grab that damn kettle as it breached boiling point, and toss the scolding water into his face. Let him broil alive. Let a muggle tactic be what puts him out of his miserable existence. Sorely tempted to enact such a murderous rage, she flinched and flickered, but never acted on the sheer impulse. It would be far too obvious that she was the one who had ended him, and Hermione, though reaching her own pinnacle of charred rage, didn't have a murderous bone in her body.

These thoughts suddenly suspended mid-air in matter of importance. Every word that followed pierced her lungs somewhere and prickled against her spine, making her puff out her chest to maintain some sort of dignity. This only resulted in a proper meshing against Malfoy's torso, resulting in her feeling the rapid pace of his heartbeat, frantic against her own. Both rhythms almost felt as though they were desperately trying to find a match in pace; failing miserably. Yet still, drawn from her trance as he began speaking again, Hermione's gaze flicked up from his chest, clenching her jaw and whimpering slightly to dull the ache in her bruising wrist. She met his eyes with painful determination, though water began gathering in the ducts.

 _You have more sense_.

She hated how true that was.

"How dare you," she managed through gritted teeth. "In any event, it's absolutely _none_ of your business, what goes on between Ron and I." Her voice quivered from a small jolt of pain when she attempted to pull her wrist out of his grasp. Her skin burned when he touched her. She wasn't holding back tears because of _him_. She wasn't. "You really shouldn't speak on things you know nothing about. Now _let me go_."

 **DRACO** :

She had the expert knack of knowing exactly what would anger him and it was infuriating to say the absolute least. She was always so high on herself of what she knew and others didn't. _You really shouldn't speak on things you know nothing about._ The very statement has him in a headache inducing rage that he barely notices she's demanded to be let go. In that moment the blonde truly didn't care if he broke her wrist or not. "Speak on things I know nothing about? Oh _**really**_?" His words are arrows dipped and poison and drawn back in a bow to watch them soar through the air and pierce his target.

"I would have thought someone with the grades that you so _arrogantly_ present to all the rest of us would know that perception is a trait that comes easily to those with higher intelligence. Perhaps you failed to notice that I have been stuck with you for half of my fucking childhood. I have been stuck with you and your little gang of idiots just barely holding on to their lives by a thread with your immense help. I know more about you than you know about me not even mentioning the time that we've been forced to spend together in this unity based prison. " Each word was curled out between sharp teeth and even sharper attitude.

It was true of course. They were the famous pair in school and as much as he loathed them all he still paid attention. He still knew them even if it was always in an enemy like state. "As much as you _**loath**_ to admit it to yourself I am probably one of the few people in these fucking walls that knows you and your actions to a complete T." If he was less angry he would feel his body react to her noises of pain. He would pull away as if she had burned him because he hadn't heard her in pain since that day when she was laid out across his dining room floor writhing in agony.

He was too far gone to care.

"You are already quite aware that being with him is a _childish_ and _distant_ fantasy. Suck it up and move on you fucking thick moronic _ **little girl.**_ "

 **HERMIONE** :

 _That's rich, coming from a moronic_ _ **little boy**_ _who nipped at the heels of a Death Eater for years on end._

All this, and more. Perhaps she could have said it – _would_ have said it – if there wasn't a ball in her throat that blocked any manner of speech from getting out. In spite of her faltering anger, she swallowed down what she could, knowing every single word to be true, yet still blatantly, dumbly, and frantically searching every potential avenue to discredit the source. She felt suddenly cold, which was viable. Hell often froze over when Draco Malfoy started actually making sense.

"Oh, **_really_**?" Hermione mocked, her voice now like silk being shredded over gravel. She muscled up what pieces of courage were left in her, raising her chin in complete defiance. In spite of what pride she felt, she appeared as no more than a petulant child. Clear as day, plain on her face, she knew he was right. Admitting it meant defeat, and against Malfoy, it never mattered if she was in the wrong. She would go down swinging. "Why do you even _care_ , Malfoy? How could a single _shred_ of my love life make any difference to you? I'm apparently in a toxic relationship, as you pointed out several times. You should be content enough with my misery to _leave me be_. It's what you do."

Hermione's head wagged from side to side, appalled by the audacity of him, and more hateful of the brutal honesty in her last comment. Clearly, he didn't know her _that_ well. Apart from being a logical and brilliant witch, the muggle-born was rather weak when it came to her overlapping emotions. Ron might have possessed a stout heart and kind intentions, but there was little doubt that he took severe advantage when it came to the boundless extent of her ability to forgive. She was speechless to defend that grandiose flaw.

Her expression fell a little and she glanced down. What strength she might have had drained from her face and she felt tired. She reached up her left hand to brush some curls away from her visage, which strained to fight back that same ball in her throat.

"It's _none_ of your business," she said finally, her tone now in a low, almost dangerously melancholic whisper. Hermione's gaze finally ascended once more, meeting his with a raw, angry honesty. "Just let it go." A small pause. She feebly tugged at her burning, bruising wrist for emphasis with an exasperated whimper. "Let me go. Please."

 **DRACO** :

 _ **Why do you even care, Malfoy?**_ It thrummed in his ears over and over again like a mantra or a prayer. It would be something he couldn't forget. It'd be yet another source of his restlessness in the middle of the night because the pure reality of it was that he didn't have an answer for her. Why did he care? He was suddenly acutely aware of every part of his body that was touching hers. He could feel the strain of her chest against his as she breathed and the radiating heat that both of them created with their anger in such a close space. It was only in this moment that he realized that he was just as trapped as she was.

Her whisper is his undoing and he releases her almost immediately as if his fingers burned to continue prolonged contact on her wrist. Then there's silence. Deafening silence that wraps around him like a noose and the reality that he didn't want to step away from her is the small stool beneath his feet threatening to tip and leave him gasping for oxygen. He suddenly felt as if he would shatter if he moved and he was so angry at her for that. He was so angry at her for holding something above his head that he could never forget without her even knowing it. He was so angry that he fucking owed her something because he hadn't moved to help her in Malfoy Manor. He was just so... _**Angry.**_

She was so obviously broken that he didn't know how he hadn't realized it sooner. How either of her two best friends hadn't realized it sooner. Was everyone just turning a blind eye just as they had with his own damage? Draco knew that in his grief it was filtered into rage and uncontrollable fits of property damage and curses thrown at people who didn't deserve it. But her? It seemed her grief manifested this way. Pathetic and small. Two things he had never tacked on after her name or a thought of her.

He steps away from her now after finally being able to pull his gaze off her eyes that didn't hold anymore of the fire like anger. Nothing he could attach to except sadness. He steps away and nods silently to her and for the first time since he's ever known her, Draco Malfoy lets it be. He lets the conversation die and burn away into nothingness in the air.

" _The water is boiling._ " He hadn't even noticed the shrill pierce of the kettle until now, fists tightening at his sides.


	2. JEALOUSY

**HERMIONE** :

It took Malfoy stepping away from her to realize just how much she was shaking. Nails digging into the palm of her left hand to the point where she might have made herself bleed. She didn't bother to look. Stuck on stale air and breathlessness, Hermione sucked in a breath like she had forgotten how the whole time he was pressed against her. Like he had been a supply, and now that she was without, she needed to get used to doing it on her own again. Cheeks red, shirt askew around her shoulders, and water trembling in the corners of her eyes, the muggle-born turned away from him at the mention of the kettle.

Hermione reached up briskly to wipe away any tears that threatened to fall, sucking in gulps of air over the sounds of the kettle in order to swallow down any potential breakdown. She would save that for when she was tucked safely in her bedroom. Her pillow could drink in the remnants of yet another sleepless night. A smile could be forced onto her face in the morning, and all would be well… eventually.

The kettle was lifted from its spot on the element, which was turned off. Water poured idly into each mug. She used the spoon she had originally slapped down onto the counter to stir the contents of each mug thoroughly. Everything was steeped well, timed almost to perfection. Everything felt fragmented and somber.

Upon completing the routine, Hermione took up her own mug and mustered up the courage to turn to him.

"Be careful. It's hot," she said before walking around him, leaving his own cup of tea on the countertop for him to retrieve if he liked.

There was little time to react, really. Hermione had made her way up the steps and murmured her password before shutting herself away safely behind her bedroom door.

She cried there, and woke up the next morning running on about three hours' worth of shattered sleep. Still, she smiled at breakfast with Ginny and Luna, who attempted to keep her awake and occupied. Hermione barely scraped through the rest of the day, dragging her feet by lunchtime. After dinner, she was more than ready to climb the ridiculous amount of steps to her dormitory, face-plant onto her bed, and pass right out.

"Oi! Granger!" Cormac appeared to have other plans, catching her just outside the Great Hall.

 **DRACO** :

The tea is taken and when he hears her portrait close he finally takes a sip and revels in the way it burns his entire mouth. Draco smirks only because it's so apparent that sometimes the sweetest things are those that hurt you the very most.

He doesn't see her in the morning, or really at all during the day, and it's not a loss for him in the least. He needs time away from her suffocating personality and those of his own house give him that. It's almost comforting to be wrapped in the tight scales of Slytherins. It's comforting to know exactly where you stand in their eyes and exactly where others do as well. Brutality is something that is engraved into their personalities from the first second the hat shouts out the name. They were all monsters and of course they weren't always this way...but nobody cares about the beginning of the story when they've already seen the ending.

He jerks away from any touch that Pansy tries to give him and it's met with her agitation of course. They'd always been physically close during school years and he supposes she hadn't thought it would be any different this year. But it was. "You keep running." She hisses in his ear after dinner and he can't help but scoff. "I think you've been running so long that you don't even remember what's chasing you, Draco Malfoy." And with that she collects her things and pushes past him. At the moment all he's filled with is annoyance but he knows that giving it a few days he'll suck up his pride and apologize. There were so few people that didn't hate him after all and he had to savor that.

He's exhausted and his limbs feel heavy and all he wants to do is lay in his bed and sleep, but of course the world was against him because he froze in his tracks at the sight before him. Cormac McLaggen. **_Cormac McLaggen?_** Fucking hell. Draco hadn't thought it possible for her standards to drop even _lower_ but here he was staring at McLaggen obviously trying to charm her. He had propped up his arm on the stone wall and was attempting something that could only be called disgustingly playboy flirting.

He can feel anger shoot up the back of his neck like he was being branded by a hot iron and his first thought is that his agitation stems from the fact that he certainly doesn't want to be kept up all night due to her shagging some idiot who doesn't know his arse from his elbows. Jealousy is an unmistakable emotion and he knows this, but chooses to ignore it.

This had to be dealt with first.

He approaches them and he wonders if she can feel the heat of his anger ebbing off him in waves. White teeth are clenched so hard in his mouth that his cheek is beginning to twitch and he knows that if he looks at McLaggens stupid fucking mug that he'll break his nose.

" ** _Granger_** we have to write those notes to pass out to the Prefects before tomorrow morning. I didn't think you were really one to forget something so **_important_**? I expect you'll be around in the next ten minutes? I'll be damned if you expect me to do it all on my own." Subtly wasn't a strong suit of his nowadays. He had lost the knack for it in the war.

 **HERMIONE** :

"So you hear Slughorn's picking up his little club again?" Cormac asked, propping himself against the wall beside the large doors of the Great Hall, as though this would somehow be construed as charming. Hermione couldn't help but shake her head inwardly. The boy had about as much tact as a raging bull.

"I got wind of it," she replied, her tone distant. Cormac seemed to smirk at this, which almost made her cringe. He always had been under the impression that there was some sort of heat between them, but the honest truth was: imagination could often run away on people. Though it was somewhat refreshing to know that certain people had not changed in the war, Hermione always did find Cormac's advances to be childish and amateur, at best.

"You think he'll be cooking up another little party?" The suggestion in his tone revolted her, but Hermione forced a smile onto her face nonetheless.

"I… I don't know. I guess—"

 _Granger_.

Oh, bloody hell.

Just when she was hoping to slip away, tuck into her dorm room, and sleep. As much as the interruption was perfectly-timed and appreciated, Hermione felt an anvil weigh her stomach into her shoes. Malfoy was the very _last_ person she wanted to see something like this. Interactions between herself and the male gender seemed to enrage him to bits. There was no mistaking the white hot anger in his voice, which seared red into her cheeks as he approached her.

Still, Hermione drank in a deep breath, letting her nostrils flare up at Malfoy like a bull ready to charge, and forced a small smile onto her face as she turned back to Cormac.

"He's right. I should go," she excused, nodding at her own decision.

"Suit yourself," Cormac replied, shrugging as he dropped his hand from the wall and gave Hermione a rather suggestive raise of his left eyebrow. "See you in class tomorrow, Granger." He vacated the premises rather quickly, only casting a brief glance over his shoulder at Malfoy, who still appeared to be seething.

Hermione, on the other hand, gave the blonde teen a brief, skin-splitting glare before she said absolutely nothing and began trudging her way towards the stairs leading up to the Heads' dormitories. Thus, signifying that she had little to _no_ patience to deal with a confrontation like this today.

 **DRACO** :

It was only when Cormac had begun walking away that Draco cast a single glare in the boy's direction. Now that the buffer to his anger was gone he directed it to the last place he could. **_Her._** Rounding easily on her he steps into a pace that matches her own and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I suppose you like the attention of Gryffindor boys? _Do tell me,_ Granger is it just the way they pathetically try to flirt with you or maybe it's only them because they are the only ones who are low enough to actually want something to do with you." He was callous and cold but he wasn't stupid. He knew that she was attractive at least physically, but he used the insult nevertheless.

"Do you get off on the way he looks at you? I suppose you'd enjoy his sweating mass over your body. I mean it must be akin to what _Weasley_ feels like. Tell me is it more like a cow or a grunting **_pig_**?" He's vulgar and sharp and each and every letter is being directed to expel his anger at the situation and somehow make it her own fault.

He **_detested_** her.

He **_loathed_** her.

She **_disgusted_** him.

"I never thought you one to open your legs for every man that came around to offer but I suppose everyone has to be wrong at least once in their life. " Jealousy. Pure jealousy that dripped from his lips like acid threatening to burn everything that it touched.

 **HERMIONE** :

It burned. Oh, it burned. Embers smoldered in her throat, almost making it completely raw as she attempted with every inch of her weak self-control to keep her temper at least somewhat hushed. The students had mostly cleared out of the stairways, for which she was grateful, but there were still a few lingering. Each pair of ears wiggling to listen intently as Malfoy scolded her in such a way that Hermione never could have felt so hurt and insulted.

"I beg your _unbelievable_ pardon!" Her voice was almost a whisper of a shriek. In his presence, her cheeks were perpetually reddened with one type of fire or another. Now, her pupils were broad, making her eyes almost look black with uncanny, wall-trembling anger.

Hermione clung to the rail of a staircase as it decided to shift, using the grate of the cement to hide what she was saying.

"I'll have you know that I've nev—" she cut herself off, clenched her jaw, and shifted her eyes to the stairs under her feet, catching herself. She peered back up at him, suddenly with a very calm, more terrifying rage than anything she had ever felt before. "It doesn't matter. I'm not having this conversation."

Guarded. Every single conceivable wall that Hermione could have ever built for herself had all shot up simultaneously. When the staircase had finished shifting, she began her journey up towards the Heads' dorm, intent on complete and utter silence. On repeat, she told herself to ignore whatever comment he decided to throw at her, which would maintain whatever dignity she still had left. What was worse about all of this was that she found her predicament more pathetic than if she actually _had_ slept with Ron. They shared so much as a kiss and she was so smitten that she was more than willing to be treated like dirt just so she could call him her own.

In the harsh light of day, perhaps it would have been less heartbreaking if she weren't a virgin. Either way, it was hardly Malfoy's business to gripe on her about whatever partners she even hypothetically considered.

 **DRACO** :

He would be idiotic if he said he cared anymore about reputation. That had been dragged through the mud and spat on as soon as the Death Eaters had lost the war. Everything his family had built had suddenly become tainted and wrong and whatever reputation he had before that was destroyed in seconds. He truly didn't care about the others hearing the way he tore into her and in a way he secretly hoped that it would get back to McLaggen. Maybe the disgusting prick would stay away from things he had no business being involved in.

Just as he's about to fire something back he has to grip the railing because the staircase is shifting but that doesn't cancel out her words. Oh no. As she stares at him with that silent deafening rage he's staring back at her with a slow shit eating grin. She'd never?. . . **_No._** Surely that couldn't be true. She had been nipping at Weasley's heels since second year and he had always just **_assumed_**. . He had just thought that **_surely.  
_**  
He looks absolutely smug as he follows her up the stairs like a child who had just discovered Christmas was coming early. "Oh you can't just shut up now. You haven't what? _Fucked_ Weasley?" The fact is absolutely intoxicating in his head and honestly it's quite humorous. As he's winding the staircase behind her he can't help the laughter that actually bubbles from his chest and out of his mouth. How long had it been since he had really laughed at something he found funny? The laughing plus the walking was now causing his breath to be taken a lot faster.

"W-Wait. . . ** _Merlin_**. You're telling me that all those years plus a fucking **_war_** victory and he still couldn't get himself into your knickers? Fucking hell, Granger. What do you have down there? A ** _gnome_**?"

 **HERMIONE** :

 _Breathe. Just breathe._

Audacity in simplicity. Each step she climbed, inch by inch, step by step, the overwhelming urge to backhand Malfoy was so strong. _Just do it_ , she thought, _send his arse tumbling right back down to the floor of the Great Hall_. Simultaneously, she chided herself for letting her fury get the better of her.

Allowance was never really factored into the equation. After the war, time had not particularly favored Hermione. By the time she had returned from restoring her parents' memories, she only had a few weeks at the Burrow before she was off to Hogwarts once more. Even during those few weeks, Ron appeared more withdrawn than anything, even hesitating to hold her hand. Hermione understood and normally sat wordlessly with him, until he decided to call it a night and leave her cold. She maintained a modicum of self-respect and never really made a move on the topic. At best, they had shared a few kisses, though none of them rivaled the passion she felt in the Chamber of Secrets.

Needless to say, it was a bit of a hapless endeavor.

She never responded to him as she climbed the steps, leaving him behind even when he stopped to take his breath, finding whatever hilarity he could in her misery. _There's the Malfoy I know_ , she thought again, not even chancing a glance behind her to see his state of giggles that would surely enrage her just enough where she would damn the school rules and shove him back a couple of flights. She forced herself to go through the list of assignments she needed to complete by tomorrow, one after the other, even double-checking them mentally, just to drone him out.

She had meant it when she said she was not having this conversation. By Merlin, she would stand by that statement with every bit of strength she had left.

 **DRACO** :

He didn't immediately follow her after she abandoned him on the steps. He just couldn't. His laughter was getting to be too much and he had to lean his shoulder against the stone wall to even reign it in enough to continue up the stairs. He had to pull his shite together if he was going to continue to be angry with her but as he followed after her he couldn't really muster up anything but a light amusement he hadn't felt before. Why the fact that she hadn't slept with Weasley pleased him? That, he would avoid until the end of time.

Finally at the top of the stairs he followed her quickly in through the portrait before it closed again and he had to deal with the woman at the front. Draco couldn't wipe the grin off his face and it reminded him slightly of what his mother had used to say. Something poetic and along the lines of darkness having a way of slipping through the cracks but so did the light. This was it. This was the light that he needed for quite some time and it came in teasing her about her sexual escapades or lack thereof.

He truly found himself trying to glare at her again but there was nothing but that amusement clouding his brain now and as she stalked away from him he found himself opening his mouth to say something and then just. . Not.

That is until he can think of something more biting.

"That's just _pathetic_. You act as if you haven't fucked at all, Granger. Loosen up. Have a drink."

 **HERMIONE**

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Morrigan had greeted the young witch with a kind smile. She gave the same to Draco, somewhat surprised to see him in light spirits. "Mr. Malfoy." She bowed her head accordingly, yet her gaze still shifted between Hermione's bemused expression and Draco's obvious humor. She said nothing of what was clearly amiss.

"Evening, Morrigan. _Gillyweed_." Hermione let out a sigh of relief, leaving Draco behind to laugh his insides out behind her as Morrigan waved her hand and her portrait swung open, into the Heads' dormitories. Granger huffed as she climbed the last of the steps, content with the silence and blatantly ignoring Malfoy's soft glares while she placed her bag onto the couch facing the fire.

It was chillier this evening, so she tugged her wand from her robes and started a fire, intent on splaying her studies before it and getting some real work done. She shrugged off her robes and rolled up her sleeves, eventually loosening her tie and slipping it up, over her hair, which was collected in a tight bun, with frizzy pieces falling out of it. Once her robes and tie were neatly slung over the arm of the couch, she crossed the threshold and into the kitchenette to boil the kettle for tea.

At Malfoy's comment, she instinctively shot a knowing glare in his direction, then mentally chided herself and immediately turned away. She hated that she could give him an answer in a look. All things considered, she should have been aware of the close-reading he did when it came to body language. After years imprisoned with Voldemort for a roommate, she had little doubt that it was habitual by now.

Her nostrils flared in frustration as she set the kettle upon the stove with a loud _clank_!

 **DRACO** :

She shouldn't have looked at him. That was a mistake all on its own because as soon as she did he knew what that glare meant. He was silent for several long moments before removing his own robes and tie and draping them over hers. Subtle way of overpowering her perhaps? Or maybe he just enjoyed being a prick. "No. . .Truly? You haven't even shagged **_anyone_** yet?" He's mocking but he hasn't entered the kitchenette yet. He's very focused on emptying his bag on the couch before pausing to listen to the loud meowing that was beginning to emanate from her room. "Oh listen, Granger. There's one ginger that **_actually_** misses your company."

His smirk is wide as he enters the kitchenette and he's just about to go on about something else when he freezes at the very doorway. Draco wasn't stupid in the least but perhaps he had been hopeful in a way? Or perhaps he had simply forgotten about it altogether. How deeply each letter was dug into her skin all the way to the last strong D. _Mudblood_. Her sleeves were rolled up and it was so painfully obvious to him that whatever sentence he had started is immediately cut off in a strangled halt. His eyes are nowhere but her arm and he stands there for several long moments.

And then he's gone. _Coward_ is something most whispered behind his back and labeled him so surely of so maybe he was just becoming what everyone around him obviously thought. His legs take him to his room and the password is whispered before it's slammed again behind him. He doesn't take his robes or hell even his wand from the common area because he had suddenly felt like there was truly no air left for him.

 ** _Crucio._**

He had vomited in his mouth while his Aunt was torturing her. The bile filled his cheeks and he was forced to swallow it again lest he show how much the image had disgusted and horrified him. She swore up and down that the sword was simply a copy. It was just a copy. Her body thrashed and her screams were so loud that he couldn't listen to his own thoughts. Where was nothing else to focus on even as his Mother gripped his arm seemingly sensing his fear. His hatred for the situation he was in.

The only time he looked at her was when his Aunt had detached herself from the girl's body and all he had really taken in was the blood that coated her arm and the crude letters that he himself had shot at her all throughout their years.

Draco cradles his hand as he lays on the bed because he's just realized that he's punched a hole in the wall and his knuckles are burning with blood beginning to flow in beautiful rivets.

 ** _Fuck._**

 **HERMIONE**

Silence closed in suddenly. Cut off. Abrupt. She thought there was a ringing in her ears, perhaps a faint slam of a door. Hermione turned abruptly, half anticipating seeing Malfoy right behind her, just like the night before. Her eyebrows furrowed together when she saw nothing. Briefly, she glanced down to her arms and rolled up sleeves. She realized what her eyes were chasing just then. Ghosts. Wisps of what once was, and what never could be.

Leaving the kettle to boil the water, Hermione stepped out of the kitchenette and scanned the common room. His robes settled atop her own carelessly, even his wand. His bag settled loosely upon the couch, next to her own. Malfoy had left everything behind and locked himself away. Hermione had jumped abruptly when a loud _BANG_ sounded from his room, snapping her attention in the direction of the noise. Suddenly conscious of herself, she rolled down her sleeves, scanned the common area once more, then pivoted on her heel and made her way up the small set of stairs and into her own bedroom.

She changed out of her school uniform rather quickly, deciding on a simple pair of jeans, a tank top, and a sweater. Reminding herself not to roll up the sleeves of this one, Hermione fed Crookshanks and left the door to her bedroom open, just so he could run around and stretch his legs if he wished.

Soon enough, the tea was brewed, steeped, and ready to be poured. Granger didn't think when she was preparing two cups, gnawing gracelessly upon her lip the whole time.

The muggle-born hesitated quite a few times before she approached the door of Malfoy's bedroom, second-guessing every single step she took. Kindness never went without punishment when it came to him, and Hermione knew to tread carefully. Still, her heart wrenched and she forced herself to reach up and rap her knuckles twice against the door to get his attention.

"… Tea's ready," she said after a moment. Best to leave it there. Hermione descended the steps and approached the kitchenette once more, taking up her own mug and making her way into the common area to tend to her assignments.

 **DRACO** :

Her torture played over and over again in his mind as if stuck on some fucked up film reel. If he couldn't even bare to look at her arm how could she possibly be looking him in the eyes every day? How did she swallow what his family had done to her and be civil with him? His scars had always reminded him of tales of defeat. Hers. . .Well hers were more like stories of survival and he didn't know how to handle that. It's the first and the last time he'll ever have this thought but for right now he admitted to himself that Granger was stronger. At least in this. She was stronger.

Her knuckles make such a soft noise against the wood of the door and when she speaks it's small and not filled with the sickness that he would have assumed she'd feel for him. Time and time again he proves himself to be the aggressor of their hate for one another. He is always the one digging at her with all the sharpness of a blade and she defends herself but she has never been the one to come to him looking for a fight first. Mm. **_Frigid bitch._**

It must be fifteen minutes before his door is yanked open again and he descends the stairs. There is no sight of any tears on his face but when he had wiped them away with his hand in his room he smeared the blood across his pale cheek although he had yet to notice. He's standing there in the common area and he's holding his obviously broken hand in his opposite grip with eyes staring down at her as if she had done this herself.

Long legs take him out of the common area now as he goes to the kitchenette and pretends that everything is fine. This wouldn't be the first time he's had his hand broken. Or his ribs. Or his arm. Or his **_nose_**. He must look ridiculous standing there at the counter and drinking tea with his uninjured hand as the bloody and mangled one rests in front of him but god be **_damned_** if he asks her for any sort of help.

 **HERMIONE** :

The tension mounted as soon as the sound of his door opening echoed throughout the room. Hermione had remained still for a moment, but could not deny the pull she felt when her cheeks burned. His stare was on her. She drew to it; moth to flame, and felt as though it were her own fault for caving the moment her gaze settled on him. Any shame she should have felt, however, was quickly forgotten when she noticed the smear of blood on his cheek. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thinking briefly back to the loud noise she had heard from his room moments ago. His face didn't appear to be cut, but by the manner in which he favored his hand, Hermione put the puzzle together rather quick.

She took a moment to gnaw upon her lower lip, deep in thought. He would push her away if she attempted to help, but her altruistic complex couldn't allow someone in her presence to be in pain. Hermione gently rested her cup on the coffee table before the roaring fire, pushing herself up from her seat on the couch, and crossing the threshold to the kitchenette.

His back was to her now. That almost made her nervous. Malfoy was stubborn, self-righteous, and cruel. But he blamed himself, and that fact was becoming exceedingly hard to miss. After all, Malfoy was hardly the only one who could read body language. Hermione may not have been an expert in signs like he was, but it was difficult not to draw on a conclusion when the evidence was staring her in the face. One flash of her arm and he was gone, now he turned up with an injured hand.

"It wasn't you, you know," she said finally, leaning against the frame. Hermione tapped her fingers against her left forearm for emphasis, not yet revealing the scar. "You didn't do this to me."

 **DRACO** :

 ** _It wasn't you, you know._** He placed his cup down on the counter and his shoulders squared in defense. He was always on the defensive and when things didn't work out for him he took an offensive approach. There was hardly ever a calm look at a book for him or a slow stroll through the courtyard. Even during his schooling years, he had been ready to cut whoever tried to come at him with anything he even took as the smallest of threats.

 ** _It wasn't you, you know._**

And yet he had stood there as her body thrashed so hard against the floor that it sounded like an animal was being thrown down in a net. Hunted and caught just awaiting its death. He had stood there and done absolutely nothing because he was too scared and he hadn't owed her anything. There were times in childhood that he had just wished for her to drop dead and rot but the opportunity to see it? To really see her be torn to shreds? It made him sick and he didn't want to admit that weakness to her. Not now or ever.

He turns now to face her and as he stares her down he doesn't see that girl on the ground. She's **_alright_**. She's **_okay_** now. She looked healthy physically at least with her sun kissed skin and her hair that beckoned to be fixed or moved or anything. **_Touched?_** He doesn't tell her that he can't imagine how someone could be so forgiving. He doesn't tell her that he's _jealous_ of that trait. _Jealous_ of the ability to look forward and move on from things that people had done to you.

He doesn't tell her any of this but instead he walks forward and thrusts his injured hand in front of her and his eyes say everything that his mouth can't.

"Help. Please." Those two words mean so much and are physically forced through his teeth to say. He won't apologize for anything or say he was wrong but he does this because it's all he has in him to do.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione stiffened when he turned to face her. Preparing herself for a severe lashing-out, she pushed herself off of the door frame with her shoulder and widened her stance by a fraction. So ready for some sort of outburst, the witch had almost jumped when he presented his hand to her.

A wave of air swept in through her nose and her chin inclined, nodding only once before tentatively taking a step forward. Large brown eyes swept to the wounded hand and Hermione dared herself, reaching up slowly. Her fingers splayed just under his wrist, palm gliding up to gently support his own. She gingerly spread the fingers with her wrist, but not too much. Some of them were broken.

It took her a moment to realize that she was doing all this with her left hand. She dropped the limb to her side after a brief stint, nodding for him to follow her.

"Come on. There's better lighting in the bathroom," Hermione said, her tone calm. While passing through the common area, she reached for her wand, which had been resting on the couch beside her books. She didn't register that this was the first time she had even left her seat without it in her hand or pocket. Her fingers gripped the hilt of it tightly, like it was a security blanket. Eventually, she was forced to set it on the side of the sink as the lights came up in the bathroom, allowing her to see the damage much easier.

Normally, she would have told anyone else to go to Madame Pomfrey for injuries like this. However, when it came to Malfoy, she doubted the likelihood of him heeding her advice. She was still a little shell-shocked from him asking her for help at all, and so she went along with the scene as though nothing were out of order.

Turning on the tap for the sink, Hermione tested the temperature with the tips of her fingers to ensure that it was hot, but that it also wouldn't scald him. "Rinse your hand while I grab a towel," she instructed as she began to shuffle around the washroom, procuring a few items.

 **DRACO** :

She could have cursed his name or told him to fuck off but of course she didn't. He loathed her for how calm she could be to him. How normal. Her slight nod is all he needs to let out the breath he had been holding for several long seconds. Her hand is warm compared to his own cold fingers and his first reaction is to flinch away from her touch because of the pain and also because. . .Well he didn't like her touch when he was the one out of power as he so obviously was.

Her words aren't clipped or calculated but they aren't friendly either. She's calm and collected and he decides to ignore the fact that she had been without her wand for the first time since they began living with one another. Draco had enjoyed the blood rushing to his fingers or to his head whenever she hissed at him and her fingers tightened over her wand. It was the sigh that told him he had done so well that she just couldn't control herself anymore. Disappointingly he hadn't gotten hexed but then again there was plenty of time left in the year.

Her command is met with a sneer but he sucks up his pride at being told what to do by a Mudblood and looks over at the water. His hand isn't freely bleeding anymore but it's certainly open and staining his clothes and so his movement is so natural that he doesn't even stop to think if it will make her uncomfortable. With a grunt of pain he's pulling his shirt up and over his head from the back with his free hand and casting it on the ground.

He couldn't give a fuck if she saw his chest or not given that he had hidden all his scars anyway. Every scar he could possibly manage to charm hidden he had and the ones that were too deep he didn't care if she saw anyway. They were most prominent just raked across his chest as if they had cut so deeply they ran to the very bone. Potter's little spell in the lavatories. _Sectumsempra_ is what it was called he found out later. He'd almost died. His hand is thrust into the running water and he's leaning slightly on the sink not bothering to look at her at all and focusing completely on the red that circled the basin.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione managed to gather a few items. A towel to clean the wounds, a potion to disinfect, and bandages were all cooped up in her arms. She had almost dropped them when she turned to find a _very shirtless_ Malfoy hovering over the sink in front of her. Blinking hard, her gaze shifted to her feet, ignoring the intrigue of whatever small scars she witnessed resting on his spine. She shuffled closer and made a point to avoid standing too close to him entirely. The items were settled upon the countertop near the sink. Hermione cleared her throat and absently chewed on her lower lip.

"Here." Her instruction was gentler, holding out her hand so he could give up the wounded limb to her possession. The witch ran the towel she held under the water momentarily, rinsing the excess with one hand. It was eventually brought up to dab whatever excess blood had dared to dry around the cuts. Hermione kept her gaze solely focused on her work, doing her best to avoid thinking about the scars that she could see decorating his chest from the corner of her eye. Her cheeks went a little red. She tucked her chin lower, hoping to eliminate everything from her line of sight except his hand.

The towel was set aside when she was finished, then reached for her wand at the edge of the sink. Gentle in guiding his hand more into her view, she observed where the breaks were placed, murmuring _episky_ a few times and ignoring whatever grunts or hisses of protest he may have shot at her. She was quick, efficient, and she got the worst part over with rather quickly.

Some parts of the hand were drawing fresh blood, due to the disturbance in bone. Hermione remedied this by dabbing at the wounds a few more times with the towel. It wasn't long before she was pouring the disinfecting potion over the knuckles, biting her lip as she worried about it stinging, which she forgot to warn him about. The bottle was placed aside, along with the towel (which she had held under his hand while she poured the potion, to ensure that it wouldn't spill all over the floor).

The last step had come. Hermione grabbed the bandages and reached for his hand one last time, beginning to guide the fabric softly around his hand. By now, her concentration was key. She couldn't think about the soft bursts of air against her cheeks from how close she was standing to him, or how strangely cold his fingers felt, or the fact that he was without a shirt, or the fact that she had subconsciously licked her lower lip about five times.

All that mattered was getting him patched up… then running for her dear life.

 **DRACO** :

Draco had always been quite aware how pretty he was. Pansy used to tell him that he looked so heavenly to be such a sinner. Even in his confused jumble of emotions and anger he still found some room for that smirk to paint the corner of his lips at her reaction that quite honestly he hadn't assumed she would have. Granger was a female of course and he was a male. Dislike for each other's personalities couldn't remove attraction to the outside appearance. He'd be lying if he said that his jaw hadn't tightened a bit whenever he saw her with that damned shirt that hung low on her shoulder but never low enough.

Pain had become something he just lived with and so her dabbing over his open wounds was nothing to rock him at all. It was more the fact of her touch and the air that she made so thick between them that agitated him the most. If she was maybe a bit better in hiding her discomfort with him being shirtless then perhaps it was be a bit easier to handle but no. Gryffindor through and through she had to make it so bloody obvious. He catches the warmth of her cheeks and suddenly he is reminded that he hasn't had sex since he came back to this bloody place and that was over two months ago. He was just deprived that's all. He just needed to get laid.

His mind is taken elsewhere when she begins to set the broken bones and he hisses at the sharp jabs in his hand. It's like he's breaking them but all over again and one at a time. "Fuck. Are you being a bitch on purpose or is it supposed to hurt that badly?" He scowls at her but it's obvious his questions isn't truly meant to be answered. Then all the sudden she was pouring fucking acid or something on his skin and he bit the inside of his cheek.

It was only until she grabbed the bandages that he could let his mind wander away from the pain and he noticed how close they truly were. How her chest was rising a bit faster due to her pulse and how tongue darted out to touch her lower lip every few moments until he truly couldn't take the roaring in his chest any longer.

"Are you **_squirming_** because you want to know where the scars are from or are you squirming because you can't handle being so close to someone who is actually **_attractive_** and not a redhead? Did you want me to get closer?" His words are meant to taunt he convinces himself. That's also why he moves forward a bit taking up more of her personal space. It's meant to give him the power again.

 **HERMIONE** :

There had never truly been a point in Hermione's life where she felt as though she were missing out on something. When it came to people and relationships, perhaps she might have wished for company as a child. As she got older, books became her closest companions. They never let her down and they allowed her to escape from the harshness of reality. Even with Ron, she found herself content with simply sitting next to him or holding his hand. The kisses were sub-par, and though a part of her longed for that passion again, she didn't want anything half-cocked.

Malfoy was different. She couldn't even be in a remotely close proximity without getting strange sensations clawing up her spine. Her cheeks would redden at whatever vulgar comment he would make, he would purposely invade her space and he was nothing short of completely insulting at every turn. He was insufferable, vile, and… well, she couldn't really say he was entirely heartless after this. Still, there was a thickening tension every time they were stuck in a room like this; a kind of pull that always seemed to bring their mouths within a hairsbreadth of each other. He shook all and any foundations she had to pieces, including her belief in the enduring relationship she had with Ron.

Perhaps this was what missing out felt like.

She hadn't bothered to look up from finishing her work as he spoke to her. However, her blush may or may not have reached her chest. Hermione was suddenly regretting wearing a tank top under her zip-up hoodie. It was a little low-cut. Sure enough, her blush must have deepened. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

"I already know where the scars are from," Hermione replied, her tone purposely sounding distant as she tried her hardest to pour every pathetic ounce of concentration into wrapping the bandage around his hand. A small spell was murmured to cut the bandage and, in response to his last inquiry, she tucked everything into place quickly, and _hard_. Just enough to cause a pain that would bring him out of this stupor of stupidity. "There. All done."

The witch instantly turned away from him, suddenly eternally grateful for the change in scenery. The items she had used were assembled in her arms again and she began shuffling around the bathroom, returning them to their rightful places.

 **DRACO** :

Draco hadn't been shy to the advances of women. He had been popular since around fourteen or so mostly due to his looks but also because the Malfoy name and fortune came with the prospect of marrying him. Long story short is that he never had a problem getting a girl out of her knickers and in his bed, and the sheer contrast of his easy arrogance and her reserved biting remarks was like oil and water.

They just didn't mix together.

He watches her blush deepen and travel lower and lower until his vision was blocked by clothing and he briefly wonders if the red continues even below the fabric and then immediately scolding himself for such a thought. This was difficult and it was her fucking fault that it was so difficult. He had never had these desires during their school years. There had never been a pull to be closer to her during the biting coldness of the nighttime or the thick atmosphere that seemed to loom whenever they were in a close distance of one another.

This had only started happening when they were stuck in this position unable to free themselves of each other's company. It only started happening when he was forced to listen to her soft singing in the morning as she bathed or was assaulted by the thick smell of her shampoo when he entered after her and his mind couldn't help but think of the her and the water and... Well he had to take quite a few cold showers as of recently.

 ** _I already know where the scars are from._**

That's not _fair_. That's not fair at all. He doesn't know where the other scars on her body are from or even in there is any at all. It's not fair that she knows his injuries and his past so completely and yet he doesn't know hers. It's uneven and unbalanced. It's _maddening_. Her back is to him again and just for a moment he considers this bathroom a safe haven. Just for a moment he thinks that whatever happens in these walls will cease to exist outside of them and when she's finished putting everything away he approaches her.

She's shorter, and he enjoys that fact, because he wouldn't know how to handle if she was the same height or god forbid taller. His chest presses to her back and his right arm with the damaged hand she had nursed curls around her waist to press her flush against him so he can feel each curvature. She isn't sexy. Not in the way that the Pureblooded girls he had fucked were. She didn't have that shape that made all the men horn after her in drones but he reveled in it and quite honestly in that moment of blind mixture he preferred it.

The freckles he had seen when he was watching her in the kitchen. He wanted to see if they ventured further. His left hand is pushing at the fabric on her shoulder and sliding it further down so he can see the dip of her flesh. _The line of freckles that lead and lead and lead. . ._

 **HERMIONE** :

Such moments like this, they are indeed moments that cause one to hinder in step, just like Hermione did. She froze, she faltered, and she suddenly had absolutely no _bloody_ idea what was happening. One moment – one glorious moment – she was doing nothing. She was putting away items she'd used to clean a wound. Now, the temperature in the room had skyrocketed and Hermione felt as though she had been cornered; backed into a wall; smothered… it didn't matter.

It was in these moments that a person could become completely breathless, speechless, and ultimately useless. The witch felt like she encompassed all these elements, and then some. Before she could even register the onslaught, there was an arm around her waist. She was drawn flush to the _very_ naked chest of Malfoy, and her heart suddenly leapt and bounded so wildly in her chest, she was almost afraid it would catapult through her ribs and leave her here to die. She could feel his breath in her ear, his heartbeat against her chest, and… she didn't even want to _consider_ what might be pressing into the base of her spine.

"Wh—" Her breath hitched in her throat and she attempted to shift in her stance, but with how tight his grip was around her waist, Hermione was finding it difficult to move at all. She hadn't even realized that she had been holding air in her lungs for too long until her head turned. A few stray hairs fell from her tightly-wound bun as the witch took note of the shoulder of her sweater being inched along to expose more of her freckled flesh. She watched the sight just for a moment before she managed to register the event as a whole. "What are you doing?"

The tone was meant to be menacing, possibly even demanding. Something. _Something_ other than the tone it was now, which was breathless, confused, and almost choked. Almost some kind of whimper, but it was a tone Hermione had never heard herself use before. It sounded… strange. Almost pleading? She felt as if she were overheating. The blush that crept from cheeks to chest deepened as the realization of this predicament was becoming more and more potent by the second.

 **DRACO** :

It would have choked him if she had said it with any sort of malice or anything that resembled agitation. But it wasn't. Her words slipped from her lips like a beam of sun in the winter just begging to melt the snow on the ground. She was flushed and airy and soft. He hadn't heard someone sound so soft before and it shook him to the very core of his being. All the girls he had touched whispered words of how hot he made them or how badly they wanted him to lay them down and take what he wanted. It was always fast and rough and there was nothing behind it but the pure lust of teenage hormones.

He felt the same thing here of course. It was obvious with how painfully hard he was against her back and in a way he wished he would just make that go away and in another instance he was quite pleased that she could feel him. It was her _fault_ that this was happening anyway. It was her _fault_ that he wanted her at all.

"You have freckles on your back. It's a line that goes across your shoulder and I want to see if it continues." His words are spoken evenly and smooth such a contrast to her own shaky state. He explained it to her as if it was as simple as him looking up a certain paragraph in a book. Fingers dance along the neckline of the sweater to bring it down even further and he finds out at the end of her shoulder blade those freckles stop. His curiosity is sated but he doesn't want to stop. Not yet of course. His breath is getting heavier and faster against her neck as he breathes in the scent of creamy strawberries.

 ** _Fuck._**

"You haven't stopped me yet." He points out again regarding it like he was discussing a grocery list. Compartmentalization was his bread and butter and right about now he had shoved the feelings of disgust and shame as far away as possible while lust crawled up his throat and made his voice lower in pitch.

 **HERMIONE** :

The air was unbreathable. Every molecule in her threatened to combust simultaneously and Hermione wanted nothing more than to dissolve; fade away into the bushy-haired, invisible little girl she had been eons ago. She found herself trying frantically to bridge the gap between a few moments ago and right now. Before all this, she was tending to a wound, he was making his usual snide comments, but what had ever happened to the ways he shrank away when he so much as bumped into her before all of this? Where was the wonderful way he would tease or ignore her existence entirely?

More importantly, _why_ was he touching her like this?

… _Why wasn't she stopping him_?

"I…" Hermione managed another fiery breath, feeling oxygen was swiftly becoming an issue. His air was washing over her, more staccato bleats, growing in rhythm with every new inch of skin exposed to him. She felt a clenching in her abdomen; an ache completely unfamiliar. She was positive that she was shocked, a little embarrassed from being put on the spot, and trying desperately to gain her bearings. These reasons were why she hadn't stopped him, surely. It also hardly helped that almost every shift he made, she could feel, pressing into almost every angle of her body; consuming. It fogged her mind and made it difficult to think.

She was tired. That was it. Hermione was completely exhausted and she needed sleep. She needed rest. She needed… _something_. All she knew now was that her eyelids felt lazy, almost tempted to close. Every breath that swept over her skin raised goosebumps and she reddened from the exposure. Hypersensitivity, lead in the eyelids… a dire need for a very cold shower.

"I should… go to bed," Hermione managed, cringing at how meek her tone was. She pushed against the hand at her waist, urging him away from her as she stepped back from him. She registered instantly just how cold she felt and knew it was because of the shoulders of her hoodie, now relaxed against the outskirts of her biceps. Momentarily, Hermione had forgotten he was without a shirt and quickly averted her eyes, watching her feet as she began for the door, forgetting her wand on the edge of the sink. "Goodnight."

 **DRACO** :

She was warm and shifting and he couldn't help but want this to continue on. Fuck. He must be really deprived if he was getting so much pleasure out of the way her breathing hitched or how strands of her hair were brushing by his jaw and contrasting so darkly against pale skin.

Her words felt like the dump of ice water over his head.  
 ** _  
I should go to bed._**

It wasn't just that he suddenly understood who she was and where they were or that this was so utterly wrong that it was barely able to be put into words. It was the heavy feeling of utter rejection that had suddenly came crashing down on his shoulders. Never in his life had Draco Malfoy been denied something he wanted. Never had he had to face the feeling of fingers prying away his hands and the absence of a warm body against his own. Never had he felt so utterly humiliated and disgusted in himself all at once. He had come on to . . He'd come on to _Granger_. A **_Mudblood_**. And what was even worse was that he had been **_rejected_** by her.

Nobody told him no. Nobody had the audacity to squirm away from him when he wanted them and quite honestly no girl had ever not wanted to shag him or kiss him or. .Something. Surely he had never felt something so utterly embarrassing in his life. He could feel the anger flare in his chest and it's more directed at himself but it doesn't matter much anyway. He wanted to be as physically far from her as he could. What would his Mother say? What would his Father think?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. **_Fuck_**.

He could feel his skin crawling as he watched her walk away from him and his eyes look down at her wand and with the quick movements of his body he's gripping it and walking around her while shoving the heavy instrument into her hand. " ** _Fuck off_**."

He felt like a child who had been denied candy before supper as he walked up the stairs and barked the password at his room and with a loud **_SLAM_** he was alone again. Was it always this cold in his room? Was it always so fucking stifling? He couldn't stop replaying his actions in his head and kept cursing under his breath at how stupid he had been while peeling off his trousers and climbing into bed.

He hoped he never had to fucking look at her again. He hoped that he never even thought of her again. The throbbing in his lower body told him that the reality of that happening was slim to none but for now all he desired was to sleep and die.


	3. CANNONS

**HERMIONE** :

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Busy training at the Ministry still. You wouldn't believe how early we need to get up to start the day. Luckily, I got Ron a foot-in, with Mr. Weasley's help. You know how sour he is in the mornings. That's probably why he hasn't been writing to you all that much. Dead set on being an Auror, that one._

 _Anyway, I hope all is well with you. It's hard, being away from you like this. Everything feels sort of broken. But don't worry. I try to remind myself that we'll all be together again, come Christmas, but that already feels a world away._

 _Give Hagrid my love, will you? He sent me a package of treacle tarts as congratulations for getting into training. A little tough to chew, as usual, but they were still pretty good once I warmed them up. If you could thank him for that, I know it would mean the world to him._

 _Hope to hear from you soon. We miss you._

 _Harry._

 **We miss you**.

Hermione replayed those words. Perhaps they should have warmed her, but she still felt cold. She missed them so terribly sometimes, it hurt to breathe. That could be on part of the atmosphere, which was perpetually clouded with essence of Malfoy, even though he was going to the greatest lengths to avoid her.

Hermione could not have felt more alone than she did now. At least before the moment in the bathroom – which Hermione now referred to as _the incident_ – even Malfoy wouldn't remain long in a room with her. Maybe seconds, and he would disappear. Suffice it to say, she was actually beginning to miss the confrontation. At least it was a remotely human interaction; a familiarity that she could cling to, albeit twisted and unhealthy.

She decided to wear Ron's sweater today. It was Saturday, she had nowhere to be, and the idea of curling up on a rainy day like this one with a good book was… completely cliché, but totally worth it when tea was thrown into the mix. The sweater itself was rather large on her. The neck stretched to the point where it showed the hollow points of her collarbone, shifting in shade with every breath she took. She wore it with simple black leggings, preferring the stretchy material in place of stiff denim. Still, the color of the worn, hand-me-down sweater was still rather atrocious. She hardly cared. It was a day for nostalgia.

Her assignments had already been finished on Friday night. The peace and quiet Malfoy provided with his intense avoidance had allowed her to finally catch up and get ahead in her classes. Now, she was curled up under a maroon blanket, a book on Celtic mythology nestled in her lap. She flipped through the pages idly and settled in next to a steaming cup of tea, settled upon the coffee table right beside her. Engrossed in the pages, she laid herself back against the cushions, eyes blinking lazily as her wild curls splayed around her head. She was content here.

 **DRACO** :

 ** _"You're always so tense nowadays, Draco."  
_**  
Long delicately manicured fingers curl over his shoulders from behind and he shifts slightly when he feels the pull of her teeth against his earlobe. Pansy has always been completely annoying but she was good for. . Some things. He was a man after all and he'd practically invested himself in shagging like it was the antidote to his problems and yet his mind was still utterly clouded and not by the perfectly cute Pureblooded girl that had always seemed content to marry him and become the breeding cow that Pureblooded wives turned out to be. She was barely in his thoughts at all even during the act. His shoulders shrug her away and he's tying his shoes as she huffs at the sudden coldness he shows her.

"We used to talk. Now all you do is use me and _leave._ " If he had the capacity to care about people perhaps he might have felt bad for her words but he simply glanced behind him while buckling his belt again.

"I don't have time to listen to you drone on about fashion, Pansy. I'll see you later."

He had been avoiding Granger like the plague. In a week he had perhaps seen her twice and maybe for a few seconds each time. She had left tea out once for him and he hadn't even touched it. He planned on completely ignoring her until graduation when he could leave this fucking place and never have to see her or anyone else he detested ever again. Even when Morrigan tried to greet him he didn't respond and just barked the password and entered without much thought at all. He had gotten worse around his friends and yet simply flat out ignored Granger altogether.

 **Great.**

She was in the common area which he didn't have the displeasure of seeing for the entire week but all good things come to an end and he knows he has to walk past her to get to his room. He realizes then that the perfume Pansy wears is overpowering and flowing off him like he sprayed it on himself. Long strides are taken and he gives in and glances to her for a moment before stopping dead in his tracks. Perhaps it's the color that catches his eye before anything else but then the design. . The colors. Chudley Cannons? She didn't even like Quidditch. What was she doing wi-  
 ** _  
Oh._**

His eyes narrow into slits almost immediately as the hot flash of red anger passes his entire body. Is she doing this just to fuck with him? She's wearing **_Weasley's_** clothing around **_their_** environment? Surely she just wanted to rub his disgusting mistake in his face even more so. He knew she was an annoying brat but he never took her as a _vindictive bitch._ Until now of course.

" ** _Where_** did you get that sweater?" His voice is clipped and precise as if her answer is what is going to determine his next route of action. It could just be Potter's and even that sets him uneasy but it's not **_Weasley._**

 **HERMIONE** :

A lazy Saturday had been difficult for Hermione to enjoy at Hogwarts before. Of course, the Trio had beheld short moments of reprieve between fighting for their lives, but knowing that danger could strike at any moment always put a damper on their enjoyment. For once, she was wrapped up in ugly colors, a comfortable sweater, delving deep into the pages of a book while sipping tea. If there was anything closer to resembling something heavenly, Hermione would be none the wiser at this point.

Until Malfoy had entered the common area.

She stiffened upon his arrival, hearing the blatant huff of Morrigan's portrait as it swung open. Instinctively, Hermione pulled the book closer to her face, feeling it necessary to avoid looking at him at all, since that appeared to be something he preferred. If she just remained still and kept to herself, perhaps they could keep this routine and ignore one another until the end of the year came and they both just went away.

Many dreams, all useless.

 ** _Where_** _did you get that sweater?_

Hermione paused for a moment, unsure as to whether or not a response was viable. What could it possibly matter to _him_ where she had gotten this shoddy old thing? It was a sweater; an inanimate object. He asked the question as though she were murmuring the Killing Curse the second he walked through the door. This made her gradually lower her book and eye him with a rather lazy expression. She didn't even bother sitting up, and chose to ignore the strong scent of women's perfume that invaded the space surrounding him.

"Ron," she replied simply, knitting her eyebrows together. "What's it to _you_?"

 **DRACO** :

Any semblance of control that he may have held to if she had admitted to it being Potter's suddenly was dashed and divided and quite honestly he didn't care to control himself any longer. It was even the way she regarded him with that bored expression and simple way she spoke her words. There was a time that she had gritted her teeth just so she could get a word out to him. This was replaced by her not caring in the least and that lack of anger or any emotion at all propels him along with Weasley's sweater.

"I never took you as a sly bitch but again I suppose we hardly really know each other. Do you think it's _funny_? Do you find amusement in traipsing through with that ugly dish rag hanging off your skin? Your obvious emotional disorder is getting stifling, **_Mudblood_** and quite honestly it's sickening to watch. Perhaps it doesn't matter to you that while you're wearing his sweater alone without him that he's almost surely _fucking_ some slag he met at a pub after work. Does he even **_write_** anymore or has he forgotten about you while his cock's being hero worshiped by girls who don't know any better? What's even worse is that you know that. You know that I'm right **_don't you_**? Arrogant pride to admit the truth is idiotic."

He doesn't even realize that his voice has gotten sharper and louder throughout his entire rant of insults and harsh words and it's only when he's finished that he realizes his chest is heaving and his fists are clenched so hard that he can feel the throbbing in his right one that reminds him of the resetting of bones. Of the blood. Of the fucking _mistake_ he had made.

"Did you think I would _care_? I know you just can't wait to get out of here so you can spread your legs for him and be popping out disgusting little brats in no time. I don't care if you wear that ugly thing. It means **_nothing_** to me just as your relationship and you mean **_nothing_** to me."

It hadn't even crossed his mind that perhaps she was wearing it for. . Comfort? No. He was thinking like a Slytherin and a Slytherin would have worn it just to get a rise out of him. Before she can even answer he's walking away and into the kitchenette to take the firewhisky bottle he keeps under the sink and pour himself an overflowing glass.

 **HERMIONE** :

In spite of his rising temper, Hermione could do little more than sit there and look _completely confused_. After a stint, it no longer mattered what he was saying. All that she paid attention to was the rising tone – the _anger_ spilling out from him. Gradually, she closed the book and pushed herself to sit up through his little rant. Wild curls spilled over her shoulder as her head tilted, still maintaining that look of sheer befuddlement on her face.

Did he actually think she had worn this to spite him?

Perhaps she should have anticipated such reactions. Malfoy always did misconstrue Gryffindor honesty for ulterior motives. Sometimes, Granger thought that he was more paranoid than she could ever be. But perhaps they were just a close tie.

The last few comments, she paid rather close attention to, unintentionally scowling lazily at him. When he gave her no chance to answer and vanished into the kitchenette, she maintained her confused and angry expression, letting her gaze wander around the room as she feebly attempted solving this little riddle on her own. When that didn't work, the book she was holding had snapped closed and she tossed the blanket from her legs, forcing herself to get up. Her lazy Saturday officially shattered as she stalked towards the kitchenette, holding the book tightly to her side as she invaded the doorway with her tiny frame and narrowed her eyes upon him.

Seconds ticked by and she studied him as though staring down the anomaly itself might actually help her solve the puzzle. When that didn't work, she spoke.

"I'm confused," she began, her tone more collected than his had been this whole time. "Let me get this straight. It's perfectly alright for you to, say… do _whatever it was_ you were doing in the bathroom a week ago. Then ignore me and pretend I don't exist. Come back here smelling like a perfume shop, which, for the record, is _incredibly_ overpowering and making my eyes water as we speak. **However**. I make myself comfortable in a big sweater and suddenly I'm conniving and manipulative?"

She tilted her head, honesty in her eyes. She was genuinely trying to understand this mystery.

 **DRACO** :

His hand was shaking as he lifted the glass to his lips to practically inhale the alcohol that he needed it to survive. Half of the glass was gone by the time he heard her speak and it caused him to slam the thing on the counter so it splashed up slightly and spread across the counter surface. She couldn't just let him be could she? When had the tables turned? When had he become the emotionally unstable hot headed one and she had become the clear headed level one?

When he turned around he expected to see her smirking at him or at least some sort of mischief in her eyes that told him she was enjoy this but there wasn't any. If he had been less angry he might have even considered her words as actual interest and not just some ploy to fuck with him even more. He couldn't even begin to understand that his logic was flawed because she mentioned it. His flaw. ** _His mistake._**

Surely this was something she could dangle over his head anytime she wanted when he insulted her. He had done the worst thing out of the two of them and he could never get rid of it now and that thought infuriated him. "Whatever happened in that bathroom is never to be fucking discussed again. Not here in private or in public or _anywhere._ " Just mentioning it made the hairs at the back of his neck rise and prickle with irritation.

Draco wanted to step closer just to press the fact that he was bigger and taller. It was an intimidation tactic that his Father had used on many occasions. Stepping closer to her would mean that they'd be face to face and quite honestly after his last humiliating stint he didn't want her getting the wrong ideas.

"You wore it to ** _fuck_** with me. You wore it like some sort of warning or a brand of you **_belonging_** to Weasley, didn't you? As if I would fucking care who you belong to. I didn't _fuck_ Pansy and get _doused_ in the scent of roses to get under your skin. I just did it because I _wanted_ to."

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione suppressed a twinge of fire in her gut at the mention of Pansy, chalking it all up to nerves. As fiery a person as she was, Hermione never actually _enjoyed_ confrontation. Still, she couldn't deny that the idea of Pansy overpowering the rather lovely smells that coalesced in this dormitory was more than unnerving. She tilted her chin up in defiance narrowed her eyes as yet another tangent filtered through her ears. More senseless words and a stiffening of his posture. Hermione half expected him to close in on her as he spoke. He looked as though he was going to, but stopped himself. She silently thanked him for this. Close proximity with Malfoy usually resulted in pain, or – in the case of _the incident_ – a foggy brain.

Here was when she scoffed and rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest as she straightened her posture, shaking her head at his audacity _yet again_.

"I'm sick of this," she said finally, a look of sheer disbelief on her face, shimmering in her large brown eyes for a stint before she adopted an expression of sternness. "Let me dispel it for you. I'm going to make this so _abundantly clear_ that even _you_ won't be able to miss it." She stepped closer this time, but only by a few paces. "I don't live to get your attention. In fact, with everything that's happened in this dorm over the last little while, any attention from you is the very _last_ thing I want. You're cruel, you play with people's emotions, and you don't think twice about who you hurt, or even _why_ you hurt them. Why... why on _earth_ would I do anything to get any _sliver_ of your attention, when I know _precisely_ what I'm going to get?"

She paused in speech, her visage now bare. Wide open. Honest.

"I don't live to serve you, or to keep you, or to want you," her cheeks reddened a little at that statement. She blinked. She shoved it down. "I wore this sweater because I miss someone and I want to feel that comfort. I certainly didn't wear it _for you_. Nothing I do… nothing I _will ever do_ … will be for you."

With her wand in her pocket, she turned away abruptly from the scene, fully intent on leaving this conversation behind her, going back to her seat on the couch, and immersing herself into another world. One far superior to this.

 **DRACO** :

 _ **You're cruel, you play with people's emotions, and you don't think twice about who you hurt, or even why you hurt them.**_

Somewhere in his chest he enjoyed the confrontation with her because it was familiar and it reminded him of childhood in a way. It was a simpler time when all they used to fight about was his name calling or her quipping about his Quidditch abilities saying that his Father had bought his way on the team. Things were so much easier when there wasn't that looming of a war just finished. They had been children and although he had been cruel it wasn't like it was now. He missed being young in this world that forced children to become soldiers far too early.

Each and every word fired at him pierced some part of his hardened skin and when she stepped forward he actually found himself taking a barely noticeable step back. He had preferred Potter's slashes across his chest to this. It was only because she was being so painfully honest that it reminded him of the facts that were laid out before them. _**He**_ had been the one to touch her. _**He**_ had been the one to attempt something and _**she**_ had shot _**him**_ down. It hadn't been the other way around.

What did he want? Really? What was he doing standing there with air expelling from his nostrils as his chest heaved with the anger that each and every word she spoke filled him with. He felt idiotic. Stupid. She had been the only one in his life to make him feel so utterly fucking _moronic_ and he detested her for it. _Rejection. Humiliation. Anger. Disgust._

It felt like bugs had gotten under his skin and were crawling throughout his arms and body with how suddenly he wanted to thrash out. He could be better in this conversation. He could be silent or he could say something better. He could defy what she thought about him for once in his goddamn life. He could be better.

He could have been better.

He grips the glass from the counter and before he can even think he's throwing it so it just barely misses her head as it fly's through the air and smashes against the wall in front of her, alcohol running down the wallpaper.  
 _ **  
Silence.**_

"I would have given Potter up in a _**heartbeat**_ if I wasn't feeling too weakly _**sorry**_ for you in my momentarily merciful head. You are the reason that your side won this fucking war and I _**regret**_ it."

His words are so cold and distant that they can only be taken as truth.


	4. SHOWERS

**HERMIONE** :

Hermione jumped when the glass struck the wall by her head and did not hesitate to whip around to face him, just in time to hear those repulsive words leave his mouth. This was what she got for trying to appeal to any form of honesty he might have possessed. Even if a part of her knew that he was lying blatantly, it never stopped each syllable from stinging her. Venom seeped through her ears, bee-lined for her heart and almost made it stop entirely.

She locked herself in her room almost immediately, sobbing into Crookshanks' orange fur while trying to comfort herself with yet another book. Hermione never wanted to go out there again, not when he was there. She never wanted to see him, never wanted to be near him. It was practically uncanny, just how horrible a person could be; to the point where any act of civility or kindness was just completely worthless.

Some people were just toxic for each other. They were living proof.

Crookshanks eventually grew tired of her affections and repositioned himself at the foot of her bed, curling into a furry mass and passing out. Hermione took this opportunity to get up from her bed and stretch her legs. She had not had the chance to shower yet tonight, and by the stark silence emanating from the common room, she could only assume that Draco had either left the dorms entirely, or was fast asleep in his room. She prayed for his absence more than a man in the bloody Sahara thirsted for water.

Each step descending into the common room was taken cautiously. Even the bare and empty scene made her paranoid, as every inch of her bristled with the concern that he could appear from anywhere. She clutched her natty blue bathrobe to her chest, sucking in a sharp breath as she breached the bottom of the steps, then bolted into the bathroom and shut the door as quickly and quietly as possible behind her.

She would shower tonight. No bath. She wanted to be clean and get out and go to bed and sniffle into her pillow some more. No midnight tinkering on the piano. No midnight tea. No nothing. No more of _any_ of this.

The shower ran and Hermione checked the temperature idly before discarding her clothing into the hamper and settling herself under the water. Now drenched, she felt only a fraction of her concerns and stress ebbing away as the steam invaded her senses. For once, Hermione closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and hummed gently to herself as she enjoyed this time alone.

 **DRACO** :

It had to be late. Past midnight? He hadn't been keeping track since he had swiped the bottle from the kitchenette and stored himself away in his room. He had broken plenty of things that littered his bed and floor with splinters of wood and glass crunching under his shoes when he walked over it. That temper that flash burned across his body had been held in so often during the war that he was glad to let it out and have it cause mayhem and chaos in its wake. But for now? Oh for now he was just **_happy._**

Theo had always said that he was angry and bitter when he was sober and fun and light when he was drunk which was the polar opposite for a lot of people. At least for a lot of Purebloods. When he opens his door he sort of stumbles out and has to catch himself on the wall, snorting behind his hand because he just can't help but feel like the way the stairs are spinning is funny. Each step is taken with utmost care even if he's using the wall as traction and he can't stop bloody chuckling into the empty air. He's thirsty. He wants water. Brain waves are simple when he's drunk and it's like he's a caveman wanting substance.

His steps are still silent but he has to grip the couch or the wall every few moments so he doesn't fall over. This is good. This is making progress to the kitchenette. It takes a solid twelve minutes to walk all the way there and gulp down two glasses of water before making the long trek back to the great unknown which was the stairs. He kept muttering encouragements to himself that from an outside perspective may have sounded funny. "You handled **_Voldemort_** you can handle some stairs. Let's go." His words weren't as sharp as they were when he was sober but at least he wasn't slurring.

For a moment he considers knocking on Granger's door just so he can. . Look at her? His brain isn't working correctly but he knows that she's involved with whatever he wants to do. He knows she's a key to his drunk happiness.

The shower is on and running and he pauses outside of the door to stare at it. Was this a sign? Surely it had to be a sign. He sunk down with his back against the wall across from the bathroom to wait for her to emerge so he could. .

 _Do something?. . ._

 **HERMIONE** :

 _"_ _Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast, this is_ _ **la vie en rose**_ … _"_

The heartbeat simmered to a nice, slow pace in here. Steam cleared out her pores, creamy strawberries filled the air, and the raw, bare innocence of this moment seeped into every fiber of her being. Serene. Climes of clouds climbed up around her body as she stepped out from the shower, dripping onto the floor. Her hair, nothing more than drenched ringlets, hung loose around her face, which softened in the light of the bathroom. She had dried herself off with a towel and took a moment to brush her teeth, still naked in the mirror; still a little damp.

Hermione still maintained a somewhat athletic and slim build. She toned her legs almost every day from constantly climbing flights of stairs just to get to her dorm and her classes. This resulted in a rather fit form. Her body smooth from a fresh shave, making her feel like she had a rather dazzling secret. Her honey eyes warmed, taking this rare moment to enjoy what work she had put into herself, and kept _solely to herself_.

With a long sigh, now smelling like strawberries and minty toothpaste, Hermione was pleased, much calmer, and decided that tomorrow would be kinder. Malfoy would continue to ignore her and maybe, just _maybe_ , she could have yet another week of peace. Maybe a month. Maybe a whole year.

Reaching for her bathrobe, she began aiming for the door, fiddling with the tie of it. Now mindless in her presentation, thinking she was entirely alone, rejected, neglected, and left to her own wiles. She had managed just barely to get one half of the robe around her body, unlocking the bathroom door and opening it with a small wave of her hand. Hermione had never been well-schooled in wandless magic, but she was controlled enough to make very small things go her way.

Or not.

She wasn't sure just how much flash there had been, but all that mattered now was that the robe was officially closed as soon as she met Malfoy's gaze. Panicked, she was quick to tie the robe up, trying to make the bow of it as tight as possible. She considered double-knotting it. Hermione reached for the steep 'V' in the collar and forced it closed as she was now frozen in her spot.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Her voice was shrill and squeaky. Frantic and silently praying that she got lucky, that he didn't see anything.

Since when did _anything_ go her way when it came to Malfoy?

 **DRACO** :

He wondered how long she would take exactly but he's met with the reality that the door had swung open much quicker than he had thought it would and when it does he's met with the expanse of toned and sun kissed skin that just keeps going and going and going until his eyes are dipping so low on her frame that he can feel the roar in his stomach for the lust of teenage hormones. Great. Her hair was down and loose around her shoulders and just as she's pulling the robe closed he realizes that it's moved a bit of her hair away from her collarbones. Those beautiful collarbones.

The smell assaulted him and as he sort of scrambled to stand up while supporting himself on the wall he smelled the pure intoxicating aroma of those _damned_ strawberries. His arm leans on the wall and he can't help but feel the warmth go up his neck and to his pale face just barely registering that he was _blushing_. It had to be the alcohol.

It was also the alcohol that made him grin like a moron when he heard her shrill voice at the fact that he was here and he had seen so much. _Quite_ a lot actually. He's suddenly laughing and his breath smells like he swallowed an entire pub all by himself.

"Didn't think you were hiding all _that_ under robes for this long, Granger. Was that a birthmark on your hip or am I just seeing things?" He tried to hide his drunk hiccup with a cough but it wasn't subtle in the least. Leaning forward a bit and then stabilizing because he didn't want to fall over he felt lighter and more open than he ever had in her presence and it didn't just show but it exuded from his body.

"You're pretty, you know. Not like Pansy and Astoria and all those girls. You're pretty like the type that those girls start off as before they turn into sluts. Like softer, y'know?" His moronic smile is met with a bit of a sway as he rights himself again. Nailed it. Great going.

"Are you mad at me for today? What I said?"

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione almost shrank right back into the bathroom, inching apart from him as he stumbled to get a grip on himself. Her cheeks were now a deep red with embarrassment and her knuckles were white as she gripped the robe closed like a lifeline. He couldn't have seen much. Really. Her robe was only… half open. She cringed inwardly, but kept her jaw set in stone. Her eyes were wide, though. Wide with shock, fear, whatever other emotion that could possibly pertain to this kind of horror, it was all there.

Keeping one hand covering her chest with the robe, Hermione reached up, placing her fingers just under her nose to block some of the alcoholic vapors emanating from him when he laughed. She blinked hard. He was drunk, and this… actually came as somewhat of a comfort. Perhaps there was a chance – even the _slightest_ – that he would not remember this little mishap tomorrow. Maybe he could still go back to avoiding her. Maybe she could just usher him off to bed and wake up tomorrow and everything would be back to normal again.

 _He saw the birthmark?_

That alone made her eyes widen further in terror.

His next few comments made her glare at him, moving back to hold her robes closed with both hands. She could only assume that in his mind, this actually stood as a compliment, but to her, there couldn't possibly be anything more insulting, or insinuating, than this. Her shoulders were so tense, they were beginning to ache.

"No. I thought it was **_charming_** ," Hermione retorted through gritted teeth, trying her best to mask her disdain, and failing miserably. "I think we would be better off going to bed at this point." She would have shuffled around him, under an arm… something. He was literally blocking any form of escape. "Please move."

 **DRACO** :

Even in this state he could read body language. He could read emotions and you had to be stupid not to see the revulsion and horror that crossed her features. Perhaps if he was thinking more clearly he wouldn't be so hurt over that but here? Now? He thought it was the worst thing in the world, frown much more exaggerated then he might have when he was sober. Her shoulders had gotten so bloody tense that he thought she might have gone into rigor mortis just standing there with him. Surely she didn't think his company was so awful? He quite liked her company. Did he like her company? **_Where_** was he again?

Obviously she hadn't taken his words as a compliment and this Draco thought the only thing to do was really to press what he had said before. "Did you ** _understand_** me? I said you're pretty. I said you were prettier than Pansy or. . ." He has to crane his drunk muddled brain to remember the girl he had just named a moment ago. When he realizes he snaps and points at her as if he's just solved a huge puzzle. " **ASTORIA!** Yes. You're _prettier_ than Astoria. " When he had pointed he set himself off balance slightly and he had to right himself again because honestly this whole suave thing he thought he had going on would be ruined if he fell or threw up on her.

Draco picked up on her sarcasm about what he had said today and even though it was obvious he was mentally patting himself on the back for being so perceptive. Ignoring her request completely he stands there and just clears his throat. "I don't wish you were _dead_. That's _mean_ , Draco talking. He's fucking shite sometimes, you know? I'm the nicer one." He over exaggerated a point to his chest and then continued on easily. "I'm much more pers- perf- pershu- **_personable._** " Got it. Good job.

Throughout his drunk rambling he hasn't realized that he's missing something he always had on nowadays. It was either a bandage that wrapped completely around his forearm or just a tied cloth there as if he had an injury. Whenever he was asked about it he just made an excuse that the Dark Mark had burned when the war was over and burned his skin. He always said that it was still healing but in reality he just didn't want it to be shown.

He had tried every cosmetic spell in the book to try and hide it but it was always there with its dark ugly ink contrasted so brightly against pale skin. With the way he was waving his arms around now it had to be the most obvious thing in the world.

 **HERMIONE** :

The reiteration hardly helped. Malfoy was completely plastered, standing in her way of getting through and seeking sanctuary in her bedroom. It was difficult to mask the mixture of horror and confusion on her face whilst being confronted by an inebriated (and sickeningly _cheery_ ) Malfoy. His arms flailed rather wildly, in grand gestures, and with much less poise than she was accustomed to. Still, all of this surreal scenario only furthered Hermione's desperate hope that he would wake up and forget that anything like this ever happened.

In all the gibberish he spewed, there was certainly one thing that caught her attention. The Dark Mark revealed. It contrasted against his pale skin and suddenly, Hermione could vaguely appeal to the reasoning behind a confrontation like this. Being drunk made one numb. A detestable coping mechanism, indeed, and she would surely never indulge it, but she understood why. Even a little, even a sliver, it was there, right in the forefront of her mind, waging war against her better judgment.

"I… don't doubt that in the slightest, oddly enough," Hermione found herself murmuring, still clutching her robe tightly around her body. She felt a yawn creep up and removed only one hand to cover her mouth, letting the robe open just a little. "But as you can see, I'm really… very tired. I should probably get some rest." She paused, letting her large brown eyes meet his. "You should too. You've… earned a good night of sleep."

After a small pause, she eased herself very gently past him. Perhaps this would be against his better knowledge. Maybe he wouldn't even feel it. A part of her hoped he would forget, or have a strange sensation in the back of his mind where something warm may have embraced the deadliest part of him, but never quite pinpoint just what that warmth was. Her fingers had stealthily and airily clasped the area of his left forearm, pressing palm to ink. Maybe it shifted under her touch, but that didn't matter. The embrace was fleeting. Accepting. She released him when she was finally past him, only looking back to give him a very small, almost embarrassed smile.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she said finally, trudging up the steps towards her bedroom.


	5. PRESENTS

**DRACO** :

 ** _Civility wasn't the right word for it._**

They hadn't been acting civil to one another at all. It was more _friendly_ as strange as it sounded.

Not during the day of course where nothing was exchanged but a few simple words or a slight 'Good Morning.' or 'Goodnight'. He brewed coffee for her in the mornings and she left him a cup of tea on the counter before bed and it had become this rhythm of push and pull movement that had just remained stagnant. Sometimes there was the bickering and the arguments but they never reached the point of vile words or slinging mud as he so enjoyed to do and it was unsettling but also one of the calmest things he had felt in a long time. When his friends harped on her about her blood status and her clothes and her hair he of course joined along joking openly about how disgusting it was to be living with her even if it was starting to burn his throat a bit like hot water.

It was during the nights that things were different though. One of them would always wait for the other at the piano and no words had to be spoken until they played together. Sometimes it was slow fingers moving against keys and sometimes it was faster and more competitive. Usually those were the nights that they had fought about something earlier on and it was almost like they settled it through the piano. It opened up barriers over the two months that it went on to the point of where it was a routine for the both of them now.

After the piano she would ask him something about Potions and he would ask her something about Charms and they always stayed on topics that couldn't possibly branch to something that would rile the other one up. It was their piano time. There were no arguments during piano time. He hadn't seen her wear that sweater since that night and he hadn't bothered to cover up the Dark Mark on his arm. She either didn't notice or hadn't said anything and he was grateful for either fact.

Things weren't good but they weren't bad either. They were _normal._

He glances to the clock and then back down at the Daily Prophet he had opened on the couch. He had pushed away the thought of the holidays until the very last minute and that was today. Tomorrow the break officially began and everyone he knew was leaving including her. It was still early enough in the day though. Early enough to ** _see_** her before she left tomorrow.

 **HERMIONE** :

That night, though strange and ultimately horrific, had set a strange pace for them. Hermione found herself falling into a sublime routine of _goodnight_ and _good morning_. Coffee waited for her when she woke up. She repaid it by leaving tea for him before she went to bed. If Hermione had finished reading a rather interesting book, she would leave it on the coffee table in front of the couch for Malfoy to look over whenever he got the chance, and vice versa. In Hermione's case, this went on with various muggle classics, like Poe and Lovecraft. She gently appealed to his melancholier tastes, and never once chided him if he wound up enjoying them or disliking them.

However, they always wound up meeting in the dead of night. One or the other plucking away at the ivory of the piano, and the other finding themselves completely unable to resist the sound of music trailing gently up to their ears. Of course, there was a silent agreement that came with these little sessions.

 _No arguing during piano time_.

Whether this was out of respect to the players, or whether this made the piano itself some strange shrine, it hardly mattered. There was an uncanny amount of peace here, one where they could talk. Not shout, not scream, not get heated or frustrated. Just talk. In the beginning, the piano served as a place to settle disputes. Now it was just a habit, much like everything else they seemed to do.

Hermione checked the time. It was midnight. There was a small jolt in her stomach and she felt as though she were late for something. Lightly closing the book in her lap, she set it aside, leaving Crookshanks to purr happily on her bed. The witch catered to the routine, wearing her large tee shirt that hung off her shoulder yet again and thinking little of it now. Her feet padded along the stone steps leading down from her bedroom, wand abandoned on her bed.

She said nothing to Malfoy as she crossed into the kitchenette, merely nodding in an almost friendly manner in his direction. He was already familiar with the steps she took in approaching the piano. The sounds of her preparing the kettle could be heard.

 **DRACO** :

There were sometimes that she would leave her door open and the animal she had called a cat would come bounding out of it just so he could jump on the couch and in Draco's opinion the thing just adored getting its ginger fur all over his dark robes. It was getting to be quite annoying but he found it amusing when Granger found him chiding the cat without much heart truly behind his scolding.

He had gotten so used to the sight of her at this point that the small glance up to her direction wasn't because he was being rude but because he knew there was so much time to look at her when their routine was underway. Her nod is met with the smallest shake of his own and then his eyes are engrossed with his reading again. You'd think that seeing that damned shoulder every night would be enough to make it so he wasn't as effected. But no. Every single time he found himself looking at the uncovered expanse of skin a second longer then he should have.

The sounds of her preparing the kettle stirs him from his seated position and he enters the kitchenette without a sound to let her know he had entered but he knew that she would know anyway. During one of their piano discussions she had told him that he did make a noise when he walked. You just had to listen closely and she was learning how to do so.

His arm is bare as it usually is even if he crosses them over his chest due to his own agitation of having the tattoo catch in the corner of his eye. "You'll be going to the Weasley's? Because your parents are on vacation, yes?" She had told him that information over a month ago but he had remembered as he had been doing quite a bit of remembering nowadays where she was concerned.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione never needed to glance back for a second to realize that he had walked to the kitchenette. By now, it seemed to be a part of their setup: making conversation, making tea, then sitting down at the piano and making music. Of course, there was a tell that Draco had probably never realized when he walked. He used to pride himself on being so stealthy and Hermione was also convinced he was at one point. However, one of his toes on his left foot would crack ever so faintly on occasion. Granger knew to listen for that faint _pop_ by now.

She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and settled them upon the counter, tugging her hair over one shoulder while she reached for the sugar. Content in her pacing, she registered the words lingering upon the air nearer to the doorway of the small, cramped quarters, glancing briefly over her shoulder at him. Perhaps she should not have been surprised he remembered. Malfoy had a knack for picking up on little things she said throughout the two months they had actually been civil to one another, although he never did admit to remembering anything from the drunken night, to which Hermione's dignity was grateful. Ignorance was bliss, and she chose to believe he didn't recall seeing a single scrap of flesh below the shoulder.

It was a weak comfort.

"Actually, I got a letter from Mrs. Weasley earlier this week. I forgot to tell you. They're visiting Charlie in Romania. He's the one who works with dragons," she said, having mentioned Charlie very briefly before, in one of their previous conversations. She stated that last fact just to jog Malfoy's memory. "Anyway, Mrs. Weasley says the only time they'll be available is the last two weeks of December. So I'll be going to visit them then. I guess it's for the better, though. I did promise Professor Slughorn that I would be at his Christmas Party. Now I guess I don't have an out." Her tone became a little melancholy at the last sentence.

There was a small pause before she glanced over her shoulder again at Malfoy and quirked the corner of her mouth in a playful manner.

"Looks like you're stuck with me a little longer."

 **DRACO** :

He used to wonder why or how exactly they had got to this point of gentle banter that never truly went anywhere but up instead of down. Now it was just so natural that it rarely crossed his mind that he should be anything else but the way they were. She glances over her shoulder and he leans his shoulder in the doorway watching exactly how she prepared the cups. She always knew the exact amount of sugar that he favored. It used to surprise him but now he had just accepted that she had mastered the art.

His shoulders relaxed slightly when she told him that she wasn't going to be going yet. It feels like a warm blanket over his shivering form and he barely registers to be ashamed at how much he had been dreading being alone for so long. The mention of the party makes him shrug slightly. " _Bummer_." It wasn't nearly as convincing as he had wanted it to be. He wasn't upset in the fact that she wouldn't be leaving in the least.

Her eyes flashed with that playful mischief that he had just started getting used to and his own grey hues dip down to her lips before he can't help but the smirk that spreads across his lips. "Damn. Well I suppose I don't mind too much, hm? I haven't had to make my own tea for months, Granger. I knew you were good for something."

His words once would have been sharp and biting and trying his hardest to dig anything that resembled agitation out of her but now? They were lighter although still teasing. He had barely noticed but his time with Pansy was less and less spent because he wanted to be awake enough to be able to partake in piano time.

Not that he truly **_cared_** much anyway.

 **HERMIONE** :

There was something almost comforting about the lack of enthusiasm in his tone; a complete and utter absence of concern or hatred. He almost sounded like he was enjoying the new information. Perhaps that should have bothered her. Or, perhaps she should have been bothered in general by having her time with Ronald cut short. She didn't. Hermione felt pleasantly… comfortable with the idea. Ron's infrequent letters had become habitual, to the point where the witch almost felt like she had mourned the loss of her relationship with him some time ago. She already had a very particular conversation in mind when it came to Ron and a part of her had completely squared with the idea that it could make or break their relationship.

She formerly loathed to think that she would actually be somewhat relieved if it was over. Now, she was just comfortably numb to it. No doubt Malfoy had likely noticed this, but he had been decent enough not to comment on the topic, which was a bit of a surprise, given that before, he commented on practically everything there was pertaining to her relationship with the redhead.

"Just for that, I'm putting an extra scoop of sugar in your tea," Hermione quipped, though she hardly meant a word of it and was still smiling to herself. Turning back to the mugs, she was tentative in her preparations. Four scoops of sugar in one, no milk. Three scoops of sugar in the other and only a bit of milk.

In the process, she felt a small pang in the pit of her stomach, which she was forced to bury down rather quickly. In three weeks, she would be leaving this place and going to the Weasleys for Christmas. Normally, this was a part of Christmas that Hermione always looked forward to, but there was a nagging in the back of her mind, a comfort she found here in this tower… a peace that she couldn't get anywhere else. She almost always forgot her wand in her bedroom now, her nightmares were less frequent, her piano songs had compliments and creativity to match them and create something stunning… she had something nice here. Leaving that, even for a moment, felt… wrong.

"You're staying here for the holidays… right?" She asked, finally turning to face him as she waited patiently for the kettle to boil.

 **DRACO** :

He pretended to be wounded that she would even insinuate adding more sugar, hand covering his heart as if it truly cut him deeply and dramatically leaned back against the wall slightly as if he needed to the support to stay standing. When she had turned back around he found his hands in his pajama pockets and simply watched her with a curiosity.

He wondered if she could hear how his voice hadn't changed in the slightest when expressing disappointment that she wouldn't be leaving so soon. If she heard the complete disregard for any sort of honest sadness for her. The Weasleys be damned. They had her for years before now. He hadn't. He'd fight any one of them that told him they were more entitled to her time.

Draco finds himself shrugging slightly as she turns back around and now asks him of his own holiday plans. That hadn't really been discussed during piano time. They mostly stayed on the topics that surrounded her. He loathed talking about the Weasleys but he allowed her to go on about the ones he wasn't sure about and how Potter was doing in his Ministry training. She didn't bring up her. . .Was it _boyfriend_ still? He was hardly writing anymore to the point of where Draco didn't truly believe he had to say anything else on the matter. It was so painfully obvious that the boy either didn't care or wasn't interested in keeping the relationship alive.

"Mother asked me to come home but I refused. Besides I believe she wants some time to keep reaching out to her sister. My other Aunt, you know." He knew that Granger was well aware of Andromeda and the little blue haired kid she was now tasked on raising due to his fresh enough orphan status. "She was just being polite. Pureblooded politeness is like poison dipped in candy. It's better just not to take it when it's offered." His smirk has returned now as he tries to steer as far away from the other conversation as possible. It was nice and he didn't want to ruin it with talk of the war.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione attempted to keep most of her talk about the Weasleys and her friends to a minimum, but it was difficult when they were sitting at one bench and he was asking her all sorts of questions. It was rare when the topic came back around to him, and even then, the time was brief before he would turn the tables and guide the topic back to her again. Hermione never questioned this tactic. Malfoy was far more guarded, where she was a rather open book.

By now, he knew about her friends, and she had told him other things when she didn't want to talk about her friends. More personal things. Things Ron never even bothered to know about. He knew about her parents' cottage, and how there was a place under the dock where she would crawl under to be alone as a child, but couldn't fit there now, as someone full-grown. He knew she missed that place sometimes. She had told him about how her grandfather had passed away, allowing her to keep her favorite picture of him in his will, and given her a key to a locked box which he said possessed all of his secrets. She had thrown the key to the box into the lake at her parents' cottage when she found the family fighting over it, and buried the box, believing firmly that his secrets should have died with him, or else they never would have been secrets in the first place.

Hermione was under the impression that these were rather silly stories – things of the past that no longer mattered. They were strange things she had done as a child, but the piano was a sort of confessional. No judgment, just keys plucked.

She nodded along as he spoke, but made a quirky, lopsided grin at the mention of poisoned candy.

"Is this a subtle, Slytherin way of telling me I shouldn't have taken your advice on that Potions assignment three weeks ago?" She asked, understanding the diversion of the topic quite well. Keeping things light was how they maintained balance. The war was over, and they suffered silently, but moments like these made that alright.

 **DRACO** :

In the beginning he had been asking her things about herself to feel like he had somehow one-upped Weasley. He enjoyed knowing things that she seemingly hadn't told many people in the way that a child may enjoy having an expensive toy to show off to his other friends and rub it in their faces that they didn't have it themselves. It had grown into him actually being curious over time though. She had explained to him exactly what a dentist was and what they did and he'd shuddered at the thought of drilling holes and placing metal in the teeth when you could just magic it away in their world.

She had spoken about Muggle schooling and how it was different from his own and although he never gave her any opinions on his thought of it he had to admit it was interesting. The books she left out for him were always Muggle related and he had confessed to her that his favorite had been Wuthering Heights by that Emily woman. He had read it all in a night and was quite animated about explaining it with her the next day when they sat at the piano.

He had also found her name once in one of the Shakespeare persons plays that she kept on the shelves. **_Hermione_**. It was strange to him not to see the Granger after it but he had stolen it from the shelf and never returned it from where it sat on the dresser in his own room. Of course he hadn't gotten around to actually reading it yet but eventually he'd find the time.

Sometimes they forgot to play. She'd mention something and he would begin a conversation based on it and by the time they were done the sun was already rising and they hadn't touched the keys once.

"No. My advice was not polite. It was simple **_fact_** because you had been wrong. There's quite a difference. When I told you that your hair didn't look bushy that morning when you asked? **_That_** was Pureblooded politeness." He nods very seriously even if the teasing tone is heavily ingrained in his speech.

 **HERMIONE** :

The sun coming up in these sessions was almost dreaded. It meant their time was over, that they needed to move on from conversations about movies, musicians, or books. It meant sleep was required and a day needed to be faced, and they needed to slip back into their masks and pretend none of this ever happened, while still maintaining a strange ambiance of civility.

Hermione hated it when the sun came up. There had been one night – and only one – where he had kept her up straight through a Saturday night, well into Sunday afternoon; both of them debating endlessly on the topic of Heathcliff and Cathy's relationship. By the end of it, Hermione had been so exhausted that she had fallen asleep on the couch while Malfoy was mid-rant.

Yes. There was comfort here. Even in the way he nodded so seriously, with an unmistakably playful tone. Hermione found herself performing the usual rolling of her eyes, scoffing, and trying to hide a smile as she turned to the screaming kettle. She lifted it from the element just before it kicked off at full sound, pouring the hot water into each cup, cautious not to burn herself.

"Well, I guess it's fair. When I said you looked rather proper on Wednesday, your robes were inside out," she countered, not bothering to hide the humor in her voice. She jested very clearly, and couldn't help but laugh lightly at her own statement. "Now shut up and come get your tea."

 **DRACO** :

His one wish for so long had been that he could fast forward his school year and just graduate so he would never have to see her again. So he could simply disappear and the trouble with her would be forever and done with pushed away and forgotten. It used to be a constant fantasy that someone would just come up to him and ask to grant his wish and he would take it without hesitation. Now? He wouldn't dare. He couldn't really. Mother had always told him that there was a weight that kept you chained to the people who made your days better. He never believed her until now.

Her chocolate brown eyes roll and those lips separate to scoff at him and he can feel that familiar twisting in his gut. He had begun to take cold showers every morning because he couldn't get the sight of the flash of her body that he had seen out of his head. That birthmark on her hip. The way her skin looked like the plains or mountains an artist would have to trace if they were making something beautiful. His jaw tightens at the thought and he's grateful that she's turned around so he can shift a bit and keep himself from getting. . Well. . He just had to stop thinking about it.

He gasps mockingly and pushes off the wall to approach her. If he steps just close enough he can feel the warmth radiating off her back onto his chest and the smell of her hair and something else. Parchment. She smelled of parchment and dust and those strawberries he had come to loathe and be addicted to all at the same time. He didn't need to be behind her to get his tea and that was a fact he was sure they were both aware of. Reaching around her he lets his fingers just barely graze her hip before stepping back away and holding his cup tightly.

"I was surprised you had said I looked _proper_. I knew there was some sort of motive, Granger. I'm honestly hurt. What have **_I_** ever done to you?" The words were laced with so much sarcastic irony that he couldn't help but snort under his breath before taking a small sip of the almost sickeningly sweet liquid. He was still close. Too close for simple friendly conversation but he kept drinking his tea as normal as anything else.

 **HERMIONE** :

He was always so close. Always. In practically every conversation they had, she was either pressed to his side at the piano bench, or he was looming over her for one reason or another. Occasionally, while the ivories were being tickled, Hermione would feel their legs brush or press together at the kneecaps. She would have to divert her attention and stop herself from faltering, which had happened more than once. After two months, Hermione thought she would have grown accustomed to it by now, but the red still tinged her cheeks as his hand very vaguely brushed her hip. Her abdomen clenched almost instantly and she suppressed the need to jump, far too stubborn to keep her stance.

She didn't move, and thankfully, he did. But he was still close. _Always_.

Hermione finally turned her gaze up to him, observing Malfoy in all his cockiness and poise, sipping his tea so casually while he quipped at her. The smile playing on her lips grew a little wider and she drew her mug up to her mouth, pursing her lips to blow on the liquid within in order to cool it a bit. She maintained eye contact the entire time, suddenly feeling as though she had some sort of power in the situation. The temptation to smile wider was real.

"Give me a week, I'll get you a list," she said, her tone a little softer than intended. Eventually, she had taken a small sip of her tea and forced herself away from his body heat when she felt she had lingered too long. Her cheeks now red as she ventured towards the familiar bench of the piano, Hermione settled her cup on the far right end, leaving enough space for Malfoy to join her and pluck away at the keys if he chose to do so. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he watched her.

She was feeling a little more musical tonight than usual, and with the beginning of the Christmas holiday, she wanted to start off the season right. The tune she began to play was… much simpler than anything she had played before, apart from the piano rendition of her mother's lullaby, which she had played for him about two weeks ago, when she found herself missing her terribly. Full chords, simplistic rhythm, yet… melancholy and beautiful.

She began to sing. Soft and sweet. _Winter Song_.

" _This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon; it rolls in from the sea_ …"

All this time and Hermione was certain she had hummed and sang to herself plenty, but she had never sang a song at the piano. Her voice, still fit for lullabies, and with a gentle accompaniment. Nothing extravagant. Just airy and soft.

 **DRACO** :

She was staring up at him in a way she didn't usually. It was almost like a dare or a play of power and he raised an eyebrow immediately to let her know that he noticed. Her eyes never broke from his own as her lips touched the cup and he hadn't looked away yet even when he saw her cheeks turn that familiar shade of pink. _Mm_. She moved away first and he couldn't help but grin at the mention of the list of all the things he'd ever done to her. She would need much longer. A week just wouldn't fit everything in.

She settled herself on her side of the piano and he placed his cup down on his side. It was sort of a signal for the both of them that piano time had started. Anything said while they sat on that bench wouldn't be used during the day. It wouldn't be used in real conversation or arguments they may have later. It was like a confessional of sorts.

There was something about the way she settled herself to begin playing that he found fascinating. Her body settled down and she became relaxed in a way that he hadn't seen outside of this bench. It was like the stresses of the day or the week or hell the very month just slipped out of her bones and she could stop pretending. They could both stop pretending to be alright. She hadn't sung before and when her lips open to pair with the simple softness of the piano that follows her he can't help but feel his jaw loosen.

Sometimes she would go on for multiple songs before looking at him and having her cheeks flush with that embarrassed redness. Perhaps the blatant staring was a bit much? He always thought she'd snap at him for it but she never did.

She was no Warbeck but her voice curled around his ears and urged him to truly listen. Draco found himself taking in each letter and word and cradling it in a place that he hadn't thought existed anymore. He listened to her sing the entire song and when she was finished he had thought it ended much too quickly. There's a silence in the room and it wasn't suffocating like most silences were with them. It was peaceful. _Calm.  
_  
"Granger." He's never said her first name because quite honestly it doesn't sound right in his mouth. He likes taking her surname which was always said with a sneer and making it sound softer in his mouth. Lighter. He wonders if she can see the goodness in his eyes. The trying to be something better. He was so painfully close to her now that he was breathing her very oxygen and his eyes are locked on her own like a vice.

"I'm sorry." He has never said it like this. Not with the softness that he allows those two little words to float to her with. When he says it he isn't strained or desperate for her to accept them like he's drowning and her forgiveness is the only thing that will keep him up. He says them just because he can. Just because they hold so much weight between the two of them that he knows only she'll understand. **_"I'm sorry."_**

 **HERMIONE** :

Time had a knack for stopping in moments like this; where she would attempt to play through a piece with him next to her, knowing full well that his gaze was settled nowhere else, and trying to maintain concentration the whole time. It was especially difficult when she sang intimate phrases like, " _December never felt so wrong, 'cause you're not where you belong: inside my arms_ " and was forced to let the tune die off for a break in rhythm, adding emphasis and weight to the phrases. A part of her would have tried to convince herself that she was singing about Ron… if it were true.

As the melody came to a close, Hermione let her fingers fall away from the keys and realized just how close he was when he called her name. By now, it had almost become a nickname, or even a term of endearment. Habitual. Hermione never could imagine him saying anything else. She preferred it that way. At first, she found herself hesitant to face him, but she mustered up the courage and did it anyway. Her head swiveled on its axis and earth clashed with sky, rising up to the occasion.

 _I'm sorry_.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed a little at first, wondering briefly what he could have possibly done in these past few minutes that would have warranted any sort of apology. However, it was when it dawned on her that he had never apologized for anything before that made her a little more confused.

It was difficult not to figure it all out when he repeated the phrase with an honesty in his eyes that she had never seen before. Her expression softened in realization and she drank in a deep breath, tilting her head to the side as she registered the uniqueness of this scenario. He was raw now; bared. She almost felt as though, if she said nothing, he would cease to exist. Her gaze flickered briefly to his mouth before flashing back up to his eyes.

After a stint, she could feel the corners of her mouth lifting in an uncanny, unparalleled kindness. Forgiving.

 _I'm sorry_.

"For what?" She asked, though she said it as though she already knew the answer, and smiled knowingly because of it. She knew, of course she knew. "You have nothing to be sorry for." Her tone was softer now; eyes kind. "Not anymore."

 **DRACO** :

He hadn't truly been this vulnerable around her or anyone before. Not since the war. Not since he had been conditioned to keep each and every little thing inside until it festered and infected his blood like a virus. He was absolutely open and anyone else would have kicked salt in the wounds that he bared for her. Anyone else including himself would have scoffed and pit on the gesture of openness because of what he had done. The crime he'd commuted against her and her friends from day one. Anyone else would have cast him aside as pariah and told him to rot with the others.

Then there were her lips. They curled upwards and her smile was so warm that it reminded him of those first rays of sun in the morning when they had spent all night talking. It always shone through the windows and gave them both some warmth from the chilly night. She smiled at him and he could feel everything he had ever done wrong get stifled in his chest because maybe just _maybe_ if this girl above all could forgive him. . . ** _Maybe_** he could be better. Maybe he could be _saved._

 ** _You have nothing to be sorry for._**

 ** _Not anymore.  
_**  
He's moving before he registers what he's doing and this time when he touches her it's not the way it was in the bathroom those months ago. He's not simply a curious child wanting to see how something works. It's not just lust clouding everything in his head so he can't root out the source of the problem. Those months ago he hadn't cared if it was Granger or not because it didn't matter to him. Now? He ** _knew_** it was her. That's why he was moving forward.

Her cheek is warm against his cold hand when his palm touches it and so his fingers move further around to the back of her neck where they disappear into her curls that haunt his waking moments when he thinks about the way they looked wet and pressed to her skin. The ugly tattoo that is now so close to her face is so ironic and if he cared about it he might even laugh.

Leaning forward he doesn't give himself time to back out and easily his lips are moving against her own, as if this wasn't the first kiss they were sharing. It felt as natural as the 'Good mornings' passed between them with secret smiles. It felt as natural as the looks across the Great Hall because only they knew the secret that nobody else did. Only they knew what the other was when they took of their face of play and pretend.

 **HERMIONE** :

It was difficult to believe that she was shocked when his hand had pressed upon her cheek, making her feel incredibly small. All these moments seemed to coalesce into something much larger than Hermione had calculated. They had found normalcy in the aftermath of a foul war that almost tore them both to shreds. It should have made sense that it would come to this. It should have made sense that it would be on this bench, after all this time. She should have seen it.

Her lips still trembled when his own pressed to them. Knees quivered. Her stomach clenched and she found herself doing the absolute strangest thing.

 _She was kissing him back_.

Perhaps her incessant pining after Ron had blinded her to opportunities that were, to say the least, far more appealing than the relationship she was in. She couldn't even be bothered to pay heed to guilt at this point. The shock made her quake and in spite of any better judgment she might have had stowed away in her mind, Hermione found herself reaching for him. Her left hand gently reached for his shoulder; a more innocent place. The other found home upon the center of his chest, eager to feel his beating heart.

Her body shifted a little more to face him, even though it shouldn't have. Lips parted a little more, innocent and curious, even though they shouldn't have. Every bit of her, right down to the core, began to ache for something it most _certainly_ shouldn't have. Yet still, she remained. Her eyes fell to a close in a flutter. Her left hand found itself wandering into his hair, testing its softness.

She wasn't doing this the right way. None of it. Hermione never thought that a kiss like this would be shared with someone she wasn't even in a relationship with, but here she was. Here he was.

She could worry about the rest later.

 **DRACO** :

He waited for her to realize where she was or who she was with. He waited for her to pause her movements and gasp at him and perhaps if he was lucky he wouldn't get a slap across the cheek. He waited. Waited. Waited. **_Waited._** And then she did something he hadn't thought was even possible. She was kissing him back. Draco had thought he understood all kisses and how they worked and shifted against his own insistent wants, but this? It was different and he felt as if he had been entrusted with a baby bird in his hands and had promised not to crush it.

Her hand is reaching for him and then he feels the other press over his chest. Could she feel the way his heart was thumping faster and faster? Did she understand that this is how his heart acted around her at all times and not just when he was kissing her? He always found it racing so fast that he felt he might have to chase after it.

Funny thing life was. Here he was the former Prince of Slytherin and Death Eater sitting on a bench with Hermione Granger who couldn't have been any better of a person if she tried her absolute hardest. Fucking ironic. Her fingers find their way to his hair and he would have thought that he would be clouded at this point but honestly he's never felt so fucking clear headed in years. This was wrong. He knew it was wrong and so did she and yet it felt like pleasure reincarnate.

The kiss was stealing his essence. Stealing his oxygen and yet giving him life all at the same time. She had made him question his beliefs and thoughts around every single corner and this? God. This was something that he felt like he could never replicate again. They can't get any closer but he still tries with his free arm curling around her torso to press her flush against him and his lips devouring everything she offers to him like it's a sacrifice that he's desperate and willing to take.

 ** _Fuck._**

He breaks his lips away from hers finally only because if they keep going they'd both pass out due to oxygen deprivation. Instead he finds his teeth raking across her jaw and finally reaching her neck where he can finally breathe in the heaviness of her shampoo and feel her raging pulse beneath his lips.

 **Fuck.**

" _Granger._ "

 **HERMIONE** :

Each subtle motion was a trigger for new sensations. Hermione had thought she got lucky with Ron. The Chamber of Secrets loomed over their heads and they kissed hard, passionate and messy, though Ron was a little more skilled than she. She found romance in the gut of that place and then she knew nothing better. She sought after it like a fish desperate for water; for breath.

Now, she was beginning to wonder what the hell was so damn special about it, because this kiss shoved every single brief, fleeting moment of intimacy Hermione had ever experienced to the furthest, most guarded corners of her mind like some shameful secret. It wiped the slate clean and gave any kiss she shared with Ron or Krum something to measure up to. The skill itself wasn't even a part of the equation. Hermione was a novice when it came to kissing, and she fumbled a little against Malfoy's mouth as she tried her best to keep up – to give back what he was giving to her. Occasionally, her mouth would just fall open against his, desperate to swallow him. She got a little nervous when her teeth had nipped his lower lip by mistake, but he pulled her closer anyway, and she wondered if he enjoyed that.

This was about the warmth, the perfection of the moment. _Kairos_. It was about the _passion_.

Hermione swallowed hard, making her throat pulse as his teeth raked along her jaw, shooting an overwhelming amount of sensations from the base of her neck to the root of her spine. She hadn't even realized that she had been squirming a little in her seat; knees clenched together to relieve some sort of pressure.

By the time he had reached her neck, she was a puddle. Not even noticing the grip she had on his hair, her breath hitched in her throat as he reached a particularly sensitive area of her flesh. She tensed, she trembled, and finally, she let out a choked and strangled whimper when her name was almost growled out against the hollow of her collarbone. Unintentionally, she tugged on his blonde tresses, spine arching a sliver to the occasion, as though she were attempting to push more of herself into his greedy mouth.

 **DRACO** :

It was obvious from her touches and posture that she didn't know much about the kissing or greedy closeness that he was so skilled in. In a way he reveled in that innocence that exuded from her very being. Was it a trait for people like him to enjoy corrupting? She fumbled and clutched to him and it was paradise on earth surrounding him and taking him by force to the point of where he had no choice but to become addicted.

By the time his mouth had reached her neck he could feel her pulse thrumming against his lips. It was her sounds that destroyed him though. Those whimpers and the way her control slipped from her fingers and she had pulled slightly on his hair. His left hand abandons her hair and drops down to her thigh as long pale fingers curl over it. It's possessive and taking but also littered with the specks of softness. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted her over the past few months. He hadn't thought it would be like this. She had entrapped him even if she hadn't meant to.

This was a kiss. It was a passionate and driven kiss but it was still just a kiss and the teasing movements of his teeth at her neck. He had to remember that she was still innocent. He had to remember his kisses often lead to so much more and she was a virgin and this was new and he didn't want to fuck it up. He thinks that of course as his fingers move further up her thigh and his breath is becoming hot against her collarbone. He has to stop.

 _Stop_.

He's pulling away again but only so he can kiss her for the second time, teeth clashing slightly at first impact and then melting into a smoldering mess of wanton need. He was more than happy to lead her less experienced mouth against his own. Fuck. He had to stop or he might die when this ended.

 **HERMIONE** :

It was difficult to speak. She _should_ have said something, but all that came out were strangled gasps and whines. Hermione had never been in these types of positions where she was rendered entirely speechless and this seemed to be where Malfoy took the gold. She took a moment to realize that wearing this damn shirt had likely been a terrible idea from day one. He had always looked at her longer when she wore it, and now – wholly, painfully, and truly - she knew _why_.

Her knees clenched a little harder together on instinct as his fingers slithered around her thigh, constricting gently and possessively against the thin fabric of her pajamas. His hands weren't cold anymore, she noticed. On the contrary, all of him was burning her. Tingles shot from his fingers like jolts of electricity, causing goosebumps to form on her skin, and though she loathed to admit it, this was the most alive she had felt since the war.

Hermione could have sworn he knew when she had opened her mouth to speak. He knew. It was why he ripped himself from her neck and swallowed whatever sound she could have made in protest. She could have been about to say his name, or about to tell him to stop, but that lacked relevance now. Whatever words dancing on the tip of her tongue shied right back down her throat and she choked on a deliciously dulcet moan that surprised even her.

The hand resting over his heart had now gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly in a balled fist, wrinkling the fine material. Her left hand never abandoned his hair. The texture of it was soft against her fingertips and as he devoured her lips from petals to tongue, Hermione felt the desire to reciprocate such greed.

But she needed to say something. The creeping negligence of the situation was beginning to crawl up her quivering body. It slipped through a dreaded trap door in her brain and expanded like a cancer. She wasn't doing this right. She wasn't doing any of this right. She needed to pull away, get control, _say something_.

"Mm…"

… Close enough.

She had been cut off again by the onslaught. No breaks, no pauses, just constant consuming imprisonment. Hermione felt so tantalizingly trapped.

But one word sounded in the back of her mind that caused everything to come to a deafening, screeching halt.

 _Ron_.

Hermione pulled back abruptly, and only then did she realize that she was a shaking mess in Malfoy's arms. Breathless and panting, she almost didn't want to open her eyes. If she did, this would be over. If she did, reality would slap her in the face. She gripped his shirt and hair a little tighter, making it very clear that she was hating herself for even thinking of stopping this.

"I…" What? _I_ , what? _I'm sorry? I should go to bed? I can't do this?_

Why did those all feel like lies?

 **DRACO** :

In childhood, he was told the history of his name. Draco. Drakon. **_Dragon._** They always said that he would grow up to be just like the beautiful beasts with their fast tempers and fire that could burn down entire civilizations if they so pleased. He was told that the ability to harm roared in his chest and he'd do great things for the family name. He never believed them until now. He could feel the fire pour from his mouth and lull her into its burning embrace until he was sure that he'd be holding her embers in his very hands.

Everything was so utterly awake and alive and here that there was no time to breath or think or control that raging beast that demanded attention and reprieve. There just wasn't any time. Her nails were digging slightly into his chest where she scraped the fabric in her fist but he didn't mind. He didn't care. She was beautiful and he hadn't known how he didn't realize it sooner.

She was beautiful and he was evil and wrong to corrupt that. Then again he had never been a _good_ person.

She pulls away and for a moment he wants to cry out to her and chase after her lips with all the desperation that Lucifer must have called out to god before he fell but he stops. He feels her shaking and panting in his arms and although he's painfully hard and greedy and lustful, he understands. Gryffindors were always so bloody loyal. It was one thing that he had considered valiant about the house. She was loyal. She didn't just turn her back on those she loved for. . Whatever this was. Not like he turned his back on Pansy without the smallest inkling of thought.

"It's alright." His words come out rushed and choked and it's only because his body is telling him no. That it ** _isn't_** alright. That he had to keep **_going_**. "I understand." Blood is throbbing in his ears and he's detached himself from her without another word. He understood. It shocks him because he hadn't known he was going to do it next but his arm is reaching out and it isn't for her frame or hair or cheek.

His forearm presses into her own and long slender fingers curl further up near her elbow. The ugly tattoo is pressing tightly to the scar she wore that had made him so sick the first time he'd seen it again. They're pressing together and it's a quick embrace but it says so much.

"Goodnight, Granger."


	6. PERIWINKLE

**HERMIONE** :

Malfoy had left her stumped that night. He pressed Mark to Mudblood and when he left, she had clapped a hand over her own mouth and breathed heavily in shock and… disappointment. Yet still, she refrained from actually touching her palm to her lips, lest she taint the taste of him on her tongue. She had eventually gathered her strength, set their used mugs of tea into the sink at the kitchenette, and disappeared into her bedroom for the night without bothering to clean up.

A week had passed now, and things were… relatively normal, but more awkward than Hermione would have liked. The kiss changed plenty of things, set her head in a spin, and turned her entire world upside down. She had essentially been disloyal to a boyfriend who… practically didn't exist, but that was apart from the point. In spite of this knowledge, Hermione still craved that closeness, yet never acted on it. Malfoy seemed to distance himself, but neither of them really lost their civility or kindness with one another. They were too far down the rabbit hole now to break routine.

Hermione had barely managed to convince him to attend this Christmas Party with her. At first, he stared at her as though he were waiting for a punchline, but the scene swiftly descended into hysterics when he discovered that the only reason she had even considered going with Cormac was to get under Ron's skin in sixth year. It hadn't worked, and this was exactly why Hermione decided never to try anything as immature again. Jealousy ploys weren't worth the outcome.

Now she stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, fanning down the chiffon material of a periwinkle blue dress. Knee length, off-shoulder, and flowing, almost like a fairy's dress. Her shoes were with a very small heel. Considering the amount of steps she needed to climb, it seemed fair to her feet to keep the shoes humble, and silver. She had little matching flower earrings that dangled rather daintily. Her hair was up in a soft, simple bun, with stray curls accentuating her features, and little silver flowers decorated throughout her hair. For the most part, she was a picture of a very simple elegance. Nothing was too flourished or overdone. Lips lined with a light shimmer, eyes lined with soft and barely noticeable accents. She was humble.

Pleased with the outcome of her efforts, Hermione draped a silvery, light shawl around her elbows, exited her bedroom, smiling absently at Crookshanks' mewl of approval. She left the door for her bedroom open, just in case the cat decided to venture out and chase mice.

"Alright, are you ready?" She called out softly, half expecting Malfoy to be tucked away in his room.

 **DRACO** :

Just as her voice sounded he had been closing the door to his room. If there was one thing that Draco knew how to do it was parties. Of course he preferred not to attend most of them because he had his fill as a child but he was good at them. Social hierarchy had always been something he was skilled at gauging. There was an art to the way you spoke to people and smoothed out your words in something that could be flirtatious charm or sharp strength when need be. Suffice to say he wasn't concerned about the party and just wanted to get it over with so they could get back.

When he stepped into the common area he was pinning the ornate silver cuff links to his suit and not paying attention to anything in front of him. He had often opted to leave his hair a bit freer nowadays and instead of the traditional look Purebloods wore he didn't slick it down or muss with it at all quite honestly. The platinum strands all seemed to fall perfectly in place on their own.

He had his Mother send him his best suit and it looked absolutely beautiful contrasted against such pale skin. Everything fit in just the right places like it had been tailored for his specific body shape down to the dark dress shoes. He looked how he had always looked in his younger years. Pureblooded perfection.

Finally, his eyes drift upwards when he's finished with the cuff links and whatever he had been about to say was staunched immediately. She looked beautiful, as she usually did, and for a moment, he considered that he wished Slughorn had more parties, if this is how she looked when she went to one. She was breathtaking and he liked her like this of course, but in a way he preferred her normal self. With her hair around her shoulders loosely and a sweater that didn't really fit dwarfing her form and making her look smaller, fingers curled over a book.

"You clean up nicely." Is all he can manage to say, smirk already dancing across his lips. He had pushed away the reality that they would be seen together in public. Of course it was only because they were both the Head's but surely there would be a tension for them to act as they've always acted around each other. Cold and aloof. It's what his friends were expecting and he was sure at least one of them would be at the party. What would happen when something was remarked about her and he was expected to follow along?

"I moved my slacks off the couch so that ginger beast wouldn't rub his hair all over them. It's getting ridiculous at this point. I swear he does it on purpose."

 **HERMIONE** :

Of course, he looked like sheer, delicious perfection. Of course. All this time spent in pajamas by a roaring fire after getting out of measly school robes had almost made her forget the one thing that he had all but shoved down her throat: he was a pureblood. It showed in the cufflinks, in the suit, in his very stride. Hermione almost instantly felt underdressed and foolish, but she swallowed it down when she took in his reaction, smiling and glancing almost shyly down at her feet.

"I could say the same for you, but… you don't need those kinds of compliments," she replied, maintaining that airy, almost whimsical sass in her tone while she absently patted down her dress again. Hermione very rarely wore skirts or dresses. She preferred slacks under her robes and denim jeans. Anything that would make her feel comfortable, and allow her to sit cross-legged without concerning herself with propriety. Her hair was elegant, but she was afraid to touch it, and instantly could not wait to let it loose around her shoulders again. She also felt that the faint clicking of her heels made her self-conscious and she felt silly for it.

Malfoy carried himself so well, it was obvious that this kind of world was a second nature to him. However, by the small twinge in his cheeks, a part of her sensed that he was just about as fond of it as she was.

"Maybe he just likes you," Hermione said, crossing the threshold as she grinned a little. Her lips shimmered in the light of the fire, very faintly, not too obvious. Perhaps to provoke a hint of curiosity as to the flavor she might have swept over them. "There's nothing wrong with that, you know." There was a deeper hint of knowing in her eyes when she said that, but the moment was hardly touched on before she took a deep breath and motioned to Morrigan's portrait. "We should probably go. We don't want to be late."

A bigger part of her was more eager to end this evening than begin it. Parties meant socializing and paying close attention to her words and trying not to fumble or mess up. Hermione might have been the brightest witch of her age, but she didn't have the patience and fortitude for masks like this. She liked surrounding herself with honesty, not show.

It hardly had _anything_ to do with the fact that she would have to be cold and distant with Malfoy for much longer than necessary.

 **DRACO** :

He scoffs slightly when the mention of the cat liking him was brought up. Draco would never admit to her that sometimes the beast would crawl onto the couch with him when she wasn't there. In the beginning the ginger and the blonde didn't get along very well and perhaps it was because Draco flicked at him to go away when Crookshanks began climbing over the book he was reading. Safe to say that plenty of sneaky pieces of bacon from breakfast to the cat and whenever Granger wasn't available, Draco was the next best thing. He came to like the monster. Slightly.

Her eyes tell so much more than her lips and it's amusing to him in a way he doesn't completely understand. The gloss on those lips shines just slightly when she walks by the fire and he can just catch the glint of her earrings. Of the flowers in her hair. Of her lip gloss. _Calm down_. Breathing out through his nose he nods and closes his suit jacket before making the venture out of the portrait hole. Morrigan compliments the both of them and for once, Draco casts a quick nod before beginning the walk down all the stairs.

It was actually beginning to get easy after a while. His legs had toned and adjusted to the strength they needed to be to carry his form up and down those stairs everyday so he didn't quite feel the burn in his lungs and muscles as he once did. They're silent as they walk and a decent distance apart from each other through corridors and staircases. It's only when they arrive at the entrance to the party that he stills for a moment. It's almost like watching someone put on makeup or a Halloween mask. His expression changes completely and it doesn't look fake per say but it definitely isn't him all the time. His aura changes. The charisma switch is flipped.

Grey hues glance around the corridor for a moment to check that they are alone and quite easily he presses a hand to her lower back. "Straighten your posture. Square your shoulders. " His hand moves from her back to her shoulder as if teaching. Tutoring. He was good at this and she was not unlike most things. "Make sure to show teeth when you smile it gives you the look of being more approachable. Remember that it's for making connections to help after graduation. When they talk about your heroism **_don't_** be humble about it. **_Revel_** in it. You'll be popular and I won't be there to help you get through it. Just remember that everyone adores you. You'll do great." His hand briefly touches her jaw and then he's released her and strode into the party with a last wink in her direction.

He enters the party and if there had been any tension at him attending at all it was easily smoothed away at how smoothly he introduced himself to the older Ministry officials that Slughorn just loved to show off. He was charismatic and electric and somehow he made everyone stand up to talk to him. He was like a hybrid of someone who knew they were good at what they were doing and someone who didn't even need to try.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione had almost forgotten how important this party would be. Though they would see some of the other students from the Slug Club there, Ministry officials would also be attending. As a Christmas gift for the graduating students, Slughorn went to the nines to ensure that the _special ones_ would have a leg in when they left Hogwarts. As appreciative as Hermione was about that gift, she still couldn't bite back the nervousness that made her chew gently upon her lower lip and fidget endlessly. She wasn't any good with these types of events. She was better with fighting for her life or sitting in an oversized sweater, reading a book; raising her hand countless times in class just to validate herself. She had received medals before by the Ministry, and even that was awkward. Now, she needed to socialize with them, and she wasn't sure if she could do it.

Unintentionally, Hermione had followed every single instruction as Draco had paused them in the hallway and began correcting her. She forced herself to stop fidgeting with great strength, and left the reddened bottom lip of hers alone. The touch to her jaw had come and gone so quickly that Hermione almost didn't have a moment to relish in the contact. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth and she allowed herself to linger a few paces behind him before entering the party herself. The vote of confidence had put a little more strength in her step.

Of course, Malfoy's charisma had allowed him to charm almost every single person in the room, including Hermione, who remained at a very safe distance while the night began to pick up. He became the popular choice of conversation with minimal effort. A natural rhetorician, she supposed. Hermione, on the other hand, was popular by default. Her hand was almost sore with how many people had come up to shake her hand and introduce themselves. Against her nature, she forced herself to follow Malfoy's advice, allowing herself to bask in whatever "glory" she had won, no matter how much it all felt like some grandiose lie.

There was nothing glorious about war.

She had managed to catch a few familiar faces among the lot, namely Blaise and Cormac, but she made a point to avoid the two at all costs. Whenever Cormac appeared to be inching closer, Hermione would engage herself in conversation with someone else. As the night wore on, that task was becoming a little more difficult.

She was among Ministry officials, uncomfortable in the environment, and already dealing with rather dramatic dilemmas with two boys. She didn't need to deal with a third complication.

 **DRACO** :

"You know, Mr. Malfoy I think you'd do quite well in The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." Draco raised his eyebrows as he listened to the older gentleman speak to him. He had collected a little group of higher up or aristocratic people and he of course was the center of attention. He could almost take away what he'd done in the past with a small and a laugh. Almost. The blonde puts his hand on the man's shoulders and simply grins that white sparkling grin.

"You flatter me, Mr. Bolds, but I hardly think I could say it every day, it's such a mouthful." A ring of laughter surrounds him and in a way he's quite pleased that he'd retained the skill to do this.

"Surely you would enjoy International Magical Cooperation! It fits so well with your background." The blonde woman who had said it was either so good at calling him out on his past or she was just plain stupid. His jaw tensed slightly before relaxing as she continued. "You **_were_** there weren't you? When you got _pardoned_ I mean. You were in the International Magical Office of Law?" By the way her lip curls slightly at the edge he knows this woman is just trying to derail him. Peachy. It was to be expected of course.

"Yes. **_Harry_** came to put in a good word for me and my Mother. We've become quite _close_." It was a lie dipped in sugary sweetness that everyone ate up immediately. He hadn't even talked to Potter since that very day but everyone around him adored and the tension the woman had tried to create was gone as easily as it had come.

He looks over to her often but not enough to make anyone suspicious. Blaise had already come over to comment smoothly about the fact that when Granger cleaned up she was almost fuckable. _Almost._ If it wasn't for the dirty blood of course. He hoped that his friend hadn't noticed the way his cheek twitched at the words and the blonde simply snickered and patted him on the back.

Then there was McLaggen. He had noticed that Granger deflected him with an ease that he was quite proud of but that slimy moron was beginning to back her into a corner figuratively and literally. Well, he couldn't very well let that happen. Just as McLaggen is about to open his mouth to speak to the witch in question, Draco grips his forearm and turns him around harsher then need be.

"Cormac. What a pleasure. I couldn't come into the party without saying hello to you. How's your father?" His words are detached and cool and don't hold any of the friendly connotation they had previously held for everyone else in the room. He sounded like he wanted to skin the boy alive.

The conversation was a right bore but it distracted him away from Granger which Draco completely ignored throughout the entire encounter, nodding but not even pretending to be interested in anything Cormac had to say. Quite honestly he was so damned stupid that he hadn't noticed at all. Draco out of the corner of his eye observes Blaise who has just taken a sip of champagne and to the outsider looking in it would have seemed like the dark skinned boy was simply curious.

Draco knew better. He was questioning why in the hell Draco would approach **_Cormac McLaggen_** of all people.

 **Peachy.**

 **HERMIONE**

Hermione could not have been more relieved, although the situation in general was a risky one. Cormac speaking so casually with Malfoy alone was a sight to be seen, although she didn't stick around to witness the outcome. All she really saw was Cormac's confusion before she had slipped past the two and ventured deeper into the crowd. She would have to remember to thank Malfoy later, and bit her lip again at the thought. The last time they had exchanged any sort of sentiment, it ended in a tryst that she… _certainly_ shouldn't want to repeat again. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" There was a familiar voice. Hermione released her bottom lip and turned with a bright smile to face Professor Slughorn, who closed a gentle and kind hand upon her shoulder. "I see you're without a drink. Why not celebrate? It is, after all, the season."

"It must have slipped my mind, Professor," Hermione replied, feeling her cheeks growing a little sore. She had been faking smiles all night, all while hearing people muttering things like ' _such a brave girl, showing her scars so broadly_ ' and ' _who would have thought that a muggle-born would be so lucrative, it's simply enviable_ '. As it turned out, prejudice was still at large, and among the faculty of the Ministry, she was shocked to find that her blood status was even being brought into the conversation. Forcing a smile through all those comments tended to leave the muscles sore. "It appears a lot of people wish to speak to me, thus hindering my path to refreshments."

"Not to worry, dear girl, not to worry!" Slughorn said, rather chipper as he urged her over to the table where the refreshments were. He graciously poured her a drink and handed it over with a bright grin. "There you are. I imagined you would be particularly popular among the Ministry, what with the awards and such."

"I suppose I should have anticipated such," Hermione replied, though the idea made her feel a little sick. She suddenly felt the need to crawl into a corner. She suddenly missed the dorm, tucked away in one of the tallest towers, looming far, far away from places, people, and things like this. The dress felt like a rag, the flowers were needles, and her cheeks ached. Everything beautiful was beginning to hurt her.

"Well, I should think so. You are quite an extraordinary witch, Miss Granger. Brightest of your age, I've been told, and so I can see by your accomplishments," Slughorn filled in. "Have you given any thought as to the type of work you'd like to pursue when you graduate? I would imagine an Auror's position would be right up your alley."

"That's very kind of you to say, sir." Hermione took a quick sip of her drink. "I was considering something to do with the treatment and care for magical creatures, but—"

"Oh, what an interesting choice! I know just the person to introduce you to. Come along, Miss Granger!"

In spite of the intrigue, Hermione hardly wanted to follow him. She wanted to leave, go back to her dorm, take off the mask and just sit at that damn bench again.

 **DRACO** :

He had to listen to Cormac drone on for another few minutes before he excused himself when a hand touched his elbow. Turning slightly he wasn't sure why he was surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" He asks although his voice holds a softness that can only come from knowing him for so many years. Pansy smirks slightly and glances over to Blaise. "Blaise was so kind as to invite me. Us under achievers don't get to come to these things often, you know." Her hand curls in his own and he's never felt awkward at showing intimacy with her before in public. Hell he's practically shagged her in the courtyard during sixth year. He extracted his hand from hers though and she seemed a bit surprised at this fact.

"What are **_you_** doing here?" Her words are more clipped now that he had clearly denied her touch and he rolls his eyes as if it's such a burden.

" _Granger_ forced me to attend. She said it would look better on us if we expressed 'unity.' Fucking **annoying** if you ask me." His voice lowered and in a way he wasn't lying. He was just leaving out the part where he had smirked at the witch and teased her about embarrassing him by being seen with her before happily accepting the invitation.

Speaking of Granger. . .

When he looked over to her he could practically see the way she was crumbling. It wasn't obvious to those around her but it was dreadfully obvious to him. She looked like if she stayed much longer she'd slip up or make a mistake that would destroy her work prospects in the future.

"She's making us do the scheduling ** _tonight_**. She's a fucking _slave_ driver, Pans. You wouldn't believe it." His voice lowers and the girl seems pleased with his words. "I'll catch you later." And just as she's about to say something else he walks away from her and she's left there in her black dress, abandoned without a second thought.

Draco has to figure out how he's going to approach at first. He does a quick scan of who she's around and sees that it isn't any students or teachers. Ministry officials. Well, that meant he didn't need to be completely sharp to her although not friendly of course. Approaching the group he hears Slughorn immediately. "Ah yes, Mr. ** _Malfoy_**! Just the man we were talking of. Join us, my boy."

Draco is just about to interject about having to take Granger who was now at his side back to their dorms but a drink was thrust into his hand and that matter was closed quickly.

 **Brilliant.**

 **HERMIONE** :

As if she needed any more trials tonight, Hermione found herself utterly incapable of keeping her eyes focused on a single person. Voices were beginning to overlap to the point where she felt a complete mental breakdown coming along. Or, at the very least, one hell of a migraine. This was life after the war? Finish school, worry about finding a job, and more importantly, concerning herself with pleasing the hierarchy that was never involved in saving the wizarding world in the first damn place?

The people around her didn't know. They didn't _know_ what it was like, curled up in front of a small flame, hiding from Snatchers, getting tortured, and having to run for their lives every second of every day for seven years. It all seemed to take its toll, and here these people were, murmuring comments about her scar, which she had completely forgotten about when she had chosen this dress in the first place, and was now habitually adjusting the shall to drape just right over her forearm to hide it.

As much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy being called over to the 'inner circle' was almost a relief. Finally, she could focus on something familiar, yet she reminded herself not to act on it. She was still supposed to regard him with a quiet sort of weariness, yet complimentary civility. She was still supposed to want some form of distance between them. She was supposed to _not_ want to be near him when he was playing as charismatic as he was.

Hermione hid idly behind her champagne, trying her best to appear comfortable and interested in whatever anybody else had to say on the topic, which continuously droned in and out of her ears.

"So, Miss Granger," Hermione's head lifted to the face of Helena Delano, the head of the Magical Creatures department. "Minerva tells me that appointing the both of you as Heads to represent Hogwarts was the best decision she's ever made for the school in her short role as Headmistress."

Hermione cringed inwardly at the thought of Dumbledore, but her smile was bright and dazzling and it was a _lie_.

"Well, she certainly could have done worse, I suppose," she replied, which earned her a small round of laughter. She had half a mind to punch someone. Maybe a mirror, even.

"I must say, I do love perpetuating the idea of unity. It certainly is a long time coming, I must say." Slughorn took another sip of his drink.

Hermione sipped a little too long on her own glass, growing eager to drown out the words she just wanted to scream at them.

"I agree completely, Horus. I had neighbors who were muggle-born, you know. Very lovely family. Of course, I worried the whole time when they disappeared. If anyone had approached my home and asked where they were, I wouldn't know what to say at all. I suppose that makes you very brave, Miss Granger," Helena said with what was meant to be a kind smile.

Granger, on the other hand, now held an empty glass in her hand, and was looking at Helena with an expression of pure confusion.

" _That's_ what you were worried about?" She asked, though the question came out a little louder than intended. Hermione blinked, suddenly realizing the instant hush that fell over the circle. She straightened her back and placed her empty glass upon the tray of a waiter walking by. "I'm sorry… excuse me."

Her feet could not have carried her outside of that room quickly enough.

 **DRACO** :

He could pretend expertly that he wasn't glancing at her from the corner of his eye as hands clasped behind his back. He could make believe that he didn't know the conversation was going completely south with each word that slipped out of these people's mouths. She didn't understand this society. She had been thrust into this life without any warning and he supposed that he should have prepared her sooner for things like this. So many people thought that because the war was over and the good side had won that all the problems would just wash away. Pureblooded society had lived through _many_ wars. None of them took away what they all seemed to have in common. **_Ignorance._**

The beginning of the end was written all over Granger's face and he was just waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt and excuse them both. She was going to crack. She was going to fall and in this society nobody came to pick you up but simply laughed at your misfortune. If she broke down he wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces and her reputation would be the war torn girl with the mental trauma that just couldn't be polite around civilized company.

He hadn't caught what the woman had said at first and wondered why he saw Granger stiffen slightly. What had been the problem with that sentence? It was at times like these that it felt like he was playing pretend when they were alone and in conversation. He felt like he was playing pretend that he didn't mind her blood status. At least not the same way he used to.

It dawns on him just as she practically blurted out her question that Helena had said something. . Horrid, really. Draco had been so used to such conversation for years that it took him longer to understand why she might have been upset by the statement. She leaves quickly and if he was more concerned about his image he could have stayed. Image be damned. "I **_apologize_**. She's been under an immense load of stress recently as you may all understand. Can you imagine being in a tent in the woods on the _ground_ for that long? Poor thing." Of course everyone immediately sighed for her as if **_THAT_** was the worst thing that had happened during the war. These people were tiring but at least he had spared her the whispers and rumors of her mental health.

Excusing himself as well he met Blaise's eyes just as he was leaving the room and Draco could feel the uncertainty before Pansy was dragging him away to meet some other people at the party and the blonde was forgotten. "You **_can't_** do things like that, Granger." He's quick to snap as he follows her in the hall, jaw tightening. "I can't cover your arse all the time. Those people are directly associated with the **_Minister_**. Do you know how good that could be for us?"

 **HERMIONE** :

Of course she had said the wrong thing. It was only a matter of time, really. But Hermione was an activist, not a politician. She went to the front lines to fight while the ones in that room locked themselves away and hoped for the best. She had blood on her hands and didn't know how to wash it off. They didn't seem to have a shred of indecency on them, apart from ignorance.

They were clean. She was dirty.

By now, she had begun to take out her earrings, still hating every small _click_ of her silver shoes. In a huff, she reached down to take them off, fumbling with the straps and slipping her feet out of them. Hermione felt a little better when the cool stone of the castle greeted her. She felt earthen again. One with the mud. Maybe she belonged in the ground, after all. There was something about not being fake that appeared entirely wholesome and good.

She didn't turn to Malfoy at first when she heard him. Her fingers reached up to swipe away her tears first, having broken down only a fraction more than she really wanted to. Soon enough, Hermione had forced herself to face him. Most of whatever little makeup she had been wearing was gone, even her lip gloss. A few stray curls had worked their way out of her bun, falling gracelessly around her neck. Her bottom lip was swollen from constantly chewing on it. Her cheeks were red.

Hermione looked a little more like herself.

"I'm sorry," she managed, shaking her head. "But honestly, I just… I can't do this." Her voice broke. Raw. She held her arms out from her body, presenting herself. Then her arms fell listlessly to her sides again. "I already knew this was a bad idea. I wanted to see if I could, but… I'm just… I'm not built for this. It doesn't matter what I've done, or what I do, or how I dress it all up. No matter what I do, to them, I'm just a…" her voice trailed, habitually tugging the shawl over her left forearm and looking briefly at her bare feet before letting her eyes travel back up to him. A few fresh tears streaked across her cheeks freely. "You can deal with this… I know you can… but I can't."

 **DRACO** :

He would have snapped at her again but when she turned around he was floored to see her crying. She was crying. The last time he had seen her cry had been in Malfoy Manor and it shook him to his bones to the point of where he was standing there like a moron without the slightest idea what to do. Draco wasn't one to handle crying people. He could charm a room of snakes but as soon as emotion was involved he was lost and unable to do what normal people did. Connect.

 _No matter what I do, to them, I'm just a..._

 **Mudblood.**

His throat feels raw as if he's been forced to swallow sandpaper. She didn't know how to handle politics. She didn't know how to approach people who were slimy and sneaky and only wanted to befriend you because of what you could offer them or what you had. He'd been living with it his whole life but her? She'd been surrounded by good, wholesome people. She'd been surrounded by family and the Weasleys and Potter and the friends she had collected that wanted nothing but to comfort her unlike his own friends and family. She was lost and he didn't know how to guide her or tell her that this is how it was always going to be now. You can't take away fame.

Just like you can't take away the scars or the tattoo embedded in his arm.

"Hey." His voice is steady and calm and when he approaches her his hands come up to wipe the tears that are flowing from her eyes. Sometimes he used to comfort his Mother after a violent screaming match. He'd been young then but he still wiped away at her tears and held her and that seemed to help at least. That's all he had to go off of. "It doesn't matter what you are to **_them_**. They don't ** _matter._** " He thinks of her family by blood and by friendship and the smallest shred of jealousy creeps up his spine. She had everything he had been refused of as a child.

He doesn't tell her that he doesn't think that way. He doesn't speak out loud of his opinions on blood status or Mudbloods and Purebloods. When he spoke about it he wanted to be honest with her and he knew right now if he told her that he considered all blood to be equal it would be a lie. He considered **_her_** equal. **_She_** was his equal.

" _Granger._ " His fingers are now peeling away at the flowers in her hair and letting them drop on the ground. This wasn't her. He shouldn't have even let her pretend. He's releasing her hair from its restraints and when it's finally loose and about her shoulders he twirls a single curl over his finger before sighing slightly. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" His tease is lighthearted and he rolls his eyes at her. "Let's go, alright? Stop crying. It doesn't suit you."

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione almost found it difficult to look him in the eye for too long. Even with the words of comfort, she felt far too vulnerable. She had gone through this war, hoping and praying every step that something would sink in – that this way of thinking was _not_ alright. She had kept spirits high, believing that when this war was over, people would see the damage this kind of attitude can cause, and possibly better themselves because of it.

But that was simply untrue. The backs of the lesser broke for the sake of redemption, and the angels were none the wiser.

 _They don't_ _ **matter**_.

A lost and honeyed gaze drifted up to him just then, wide and tear-stricken. He wiped them away, and as he said her name and reached for her hair, she fell. As though knowing his actions before he even sought to enact them. She bowed her head to him, even holding still and sniffling slightly as her hair was pulled from its position atop her head. She felt the swarm of relief as it toppled around her shoulders, relieving the waves of her oncoming headache. Every wisp of a touch was gentle and sweet. She surrendered to it, even letting him twirl a curl around his fingers as her gaze ascended.

A small laugh breezed through her lips and she wiped at her face a few more times, hating the feeling of getting all dressed up for nothing, but pushing it aside all the same. It didn't matter by the time she had braved herself enough to meet his eyes again anyway.

Hermione froze only for a moment, taking into account that this was the closest he had been to her in a week. In spite of the location, she swallowed hard and wanted to kiss him. Her eyes had even flickered briefly to his mouth, then back again, and the temptation was there. Entirely, wholly, and irrevocably _there_. The very tip of her tongue had swept over the lower petal of her mouth before it was tugged between her teeth again and she physically fought the urge.

She didn't say anything. She didn't trust herself to. As much as the temptation was there, Hermione knew that this was the worst place to initiate anything more intimate than what had already transpired. There was also the inevitable regret that would follow after, and a part of her was already regretting how far away her trip to the Burrow felt.

Nodding in the direction of the staircases, she urged him to come along with her, backing away in her bare feet. With her shoes and earrings in hand, she began walking alongside him.

 **DRACO** :

What would the world have thought if they saw them here like this right now? He knows what his own friends would say and accuse him of. They'd call him blood traitor before he could even speak and as much as it pained him to admit it, he would be distraught at the title. Blood traitor. It was always the worst curse to have in any of the Pureblooded families. It was like death. One day you were there and the next you just. . **_Weren't_**. People talked about you in hushed whispers or not at all.

Was he a blood traitor now? Did any of that even matter in the new world they lived in filled with the nightmares he hid and the sobs she didn't talk about? As she walked away from him, he had a choice. It was so heavy on his shoulders that he felt like he couldn't bear to hold it alone. It felt so final. So **deciding**. He could turn around and go back to the life of lavish parties and money and power or he could follow her and choose the softness of her laughter and the way she smiled when he walked into the kitchenette for his tea.

 ** _He fell into step beside her._**


	7. STAY

**DRACO** :

The week that passed was gentler it seemed. Piano time sort of traveled with them everywhere in the dorms now. They'd have conversations on the couch or in the kitchen with her sitting on the counter and instructing him how exactly to make a scrambled egg on the stove (he never quite got it). It was different with the castle so empty and no classes to go to. She'd been reading in the courtyard once and he snuck up on her quite content to let his fingers brush by her own in public.

Who would see? The birds?

It was all boiling down to the day she left. Today. He had been watching her pack with his arms crossed and grey eyes following her form, looking through her clothes and books and things, worrying way too much about what she should and should not bring. They had migrated to being comfortable in each other's rooms and he was currently sitting on her bed just staring at her slightly frazzled jerky behavior.

" _Here._ " He says finally with a sigh and his extended arm where he held her wand that she had been looking everywhere for. He might have taken it earlier just to prolong her stay. "You left it near your pillow." His lie was smooth and perhaps not as convincing as it should have been.

 **HERMIONE** :

Normally, Hermione would have finished packing prior to the end of the week, but she had been a bit… distracted. Malfoy had the strangest sense of timing. Almost to the very millisecond, when she began to get out her trunk, he would come to her, invade her bedroom and drag her along on some sort of task. At one point, it involved her teaching him how to cook scrambled eggs… only to promptly kick him out of the kitchenette and take over when he burned them. They spent the better half of the day letting the place air out, even though it was freezing, reading on the couch in silence; luggage forgotten.

So, today was a rather frantic day. Hermione was all set to use the floo network in McGonagall's office, and all she had to do was pack.

And find her _bloody_ wand.

She paused in the midst of her shuffling and glanced over to Malfoy, who now extended her wand to her so nonchalantly. Hermione made a face, then reached for it, thinking little of the motive in the midst of her panic. She murmured a small "thank you" and tucked the item away into her boot.

The last week had been more than pleasant. Whatever was sacred in their piano sessions seemed to bleed out into pretty much everything they did. Whatever barriers there might have been before seemed to vanish. They wandered into one another's rooms, seemingly at random, tucked up on the couch with tea to read, and whatever debates or conversations they could possibly be wrapped up in within the confines of the dormitory seemed to follow them wherever they went.

Crookshanks had now curled up next to Malfoy, blindly content and purring happily. Occasionally, he would nuzzle the blonde's hip to garner some attention from him. Hermione took note of this and the corners of her lips quirked upwards in a small smile as she finally managed to close the lid of her trunk.

"You're sure you don't mind him staying here with you? He'll get his hair on everything, you know," she said, teasing in her tone.

 **DRACO** :

She closed the top of her trunk and when it clicked he could feel the tightening of his chest as if his rib cage was restricting his heart. She wouldn't be gone long and he constantly reminded himself of this fact. The reality is that when you grow used to a person and even enjoy them it's hard to let go even if you knew that it was only temporary. A part of him felt like if she left she'd never come back. That when she went to the Weasleys and felt that pull of family and **_Ronald_** again that she'd come back different somehow. She'd come back hating him.

Thin lips pull into a smirk when she mentions the feline that had gotten quite content with his company and was currently trying to get his head as far into Draco's hand as possible as if he could possibly get more scratches out of it. "He's my best friend nowadays. I couldn't let you take him away." His voice is low in pitch and obviously dramatic although he did consider the fur comment for a moment. "You're right. I might skin him while you're gone." As if sensing what he had said the cat bit down on his pinky and he hissed and nursed the digit. "I fucking swear it can understand English."

Humor had been the crutch he was holding onto but it was sort of falling flat now. He couldn't walk her to McGonagall's after all. When they said goodbye it would be in this dorm and they wouldn't see each other until after New Years. Clearing his throat, he held up a finger as if to motion her to wait before leaving the room and returning about a minute later.

The parcel was light in his hands and the wrapping paper is brown and plain but he shoves it into her arms all the same. He seemed almost disgusted with himself that he had actually went to the trouble of badly wrapping a present that he had spent much too long wracking his brain over. Pathetic. "We won't see each other for Christmas so. . . Happy Christmas."

His hand is now at the back of his neck to scratch it awkwardly not sure if he should just stand there and watch her open it or leave. He settles for watching her open it. Inside there's a sweater that he had bought for her. It was a deep forest green that was just big enough to keep her warm and also to let a sliver of her shoulder peek out and wrapped in that sweater is something he had taken almost two weeks to find.

"That's the right one, yeah? I didn't know. . I had to listen to a lot of them to pick it out since I only knew the melody you played on the piano." The record of _At the Ivy Gate_ by Brian Crane. They didn't have a record player but maybe the Weasleys did. Maybe they could get one.

 **HERMIONE** :

She laughed at the both of them, rolling her eyes as usual. Just as Hermione was hauling the trunk from the bed, Malfoy had excused himself and she paused, straightening herself up again. Patience was a virtue, indeed, but Hermione had never been a master in practice. She was about to turn back and continue struggling with the damn thing, but had stopped when she heard her bedroom door creak again.

The witch turned back to find a package in front of her and raised both eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. Taking up the present with delicate hands, she unraveled the wrapping, a small blush hitting her cheeks and making them pink.

 _Of course_ he would go with green. It all but slapped her in the face, and unlike her usual character, she smiled in spite of its symbolism. Immediately reminded of that episode with Ron's sweater, now she had a new one to consider. It definitely looked roomy and comfortable. Hermione could already see herself enjoying being rolled up in it, sitting with a book in front of the fireplace in the common room of their dorm. She smiled a little wider.

But there was something under the fabric; something that made her unravel the clothing a little to reveal it. Her eyes went unmistakably wide and she let out a breathy laugh, shocked at the amount of attention it must have taken just to work out that this was the right one.

"No, it's… it's the right one," she said, reassuring him with a nod as her honey brown eyes traveled up to meet his gaze. "Thank you. These are… they're perfect."

The items were gingerly set aside, fully intent on putting them into her luggage momentarily. Taking a moment, Hermione shuffled around the room and aimed for the dresser, digging into the one that held her shirts. She tugged out a smallish package that had very neat wrapping paper, ferrying the item over to him.

"I got you something too." Stating the obvious. Her thumbs sunk into her front pockets and she waited with a hopeful expression for him to unwrap it.

Within was a rather old-looking copy of Wuthering Heights. A first edition.

"I mean, I know how much you liked it, so I figured I'd… get you your own copy."

 **DRACO** :

He stood there feeling more nervous than he had in a very long time, jaw tightening while her fingers unwrapped the paper to look over what was inside. The blush calmed him immediately and he smirked slightly when she looked the sweater over. It wasn't subtle in the least but then again he hadn't really meant it to be. "That orange train wreck didn't go well with your skin tone. I just thought I would give you some _options_." His eyes glinted with the mischief of this statement and then he dropped it completely.

Her soft laugh filled him with pride and it felt like a reward for doing the right thing. Thank fuck. A sigh of relief expels from his lungs and he's nodding to her as if it wasn't a big deal at all when in fact he had spent days desperately scoring over Muggle record stores to find the right one.

She walked to her dresser and he had assumed maybe she forgot something to pack but her arm extended and he took the parcel with a low laugh. The wrapping paper looked a hell of a lot better on hers and it was just so obvious between their personalities that his would be a mess and hers would be straight lines and perfect folds. "You didn't have to." And he means it. Draco was not hard on money in the least and anything he wanted he could get.

Then again he would be lying if he said he wouldn't treasure whatever gift she gave him. Peeling away the wrapping paper he looks down at the book with a silence. Grey hues take in the words and the age of it and how hard it must have been to get one that seemed so original. It was one of the most heartfelt gifts he had ever received because it wasn't just some new suit or tie or a new ring or silver dining set. It wasn't like the gifts he had gotten for years or the gifts he'd get from his Mother come Christmas. It was so much more. He placed the book down on her bed easily and he had yet to look up at her and when he finally does there's something in his eyes that he hadn't really every portrayed to her.

 ** _Fear._**

"Granger. . .You'll come back, _right?_ " Not to the dorm or the school or to classes. He wasn't talking about that. He wanted to know if things would be the same as they were for the past few months. He wanted to know if she'd change if he wasn't constantly there to remind her not to.

 **HERMIONE** :

She watched as relief swarmed his eyes, and happiness at his gift. Needing absolutely no words of thanks, Hermione found herself beaming rather proudly and puffing out her chest. His reaction alone was enough to tell her that she had done well in her selection, and that now, she owed favors to an awful lot of people, Harry included.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, watching each and every movement he made while he placed the book so subtly upon the bed. He always did move with an intense grace that made her freeze. More so now, since he was looking at her with an emotion that she almost found impossible to place. The registration had taken her a moment, but she realized then that it was almost the exact same she had seen that night at Malfoy Manor. Wider eyes, trembling lip… though now she was trying desperately not to think of just how kissable it was. She did that a lot lately. But the fear was there, crawling over his visage like a disease only she had the cure for.

 _You'll come back, right?_

Her head tilted, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, but she knew. She appeared confused, but for all different reasons. Something very small nagged the back of her brain, spinning webs of memories and lies. The witch shook her head, wondering why he would even feel the need to ask her something like this when he already knew the answer.

"Of course," she promised, taking a step closer to him. Just like that night. The night she had supposedly dispelled him and his wild accusations. The very same night that was, by far, one of their worst. It had all happened so long ago, yet one thing was so clear in Hermione's mind. Proof that she was going to contradict herself. Proof that she was going to become a hypocrite; a martyr. Perhaps that was precisely how she wanted it.

 _Nothing I will_ _ **ever do**_ _will be for you._

"I'll always come back for you."

 **DRACO** :

Draco remembered the very first night at the piano. She bared herself for him and he felt like he had been given something so important that he couldn't crush or fuck up. She'd given him a piece of her and it was his job to keep it safe somewhere in his chest guarded by sharp teeth and bruised knuckles. He had given her the same thing now and his eyes practically begged for her to take it. To accept it and nurture it into something he could be proud of. Into something that she could care for.

She, from head to toe and inside and out is made of love. She is gentle and kind and still so full of courage and strength to fight for herself and most importantly the people around her. She was the farthest thing from him that he could even imagine and yet here they were in this circle of never really saying the words but feeling the emotions and not acting on them.

He had spent such a long time wondering how the world could create something as powerful and majestic as her. Granger was a silent beauty in a world that just couldn't stop talking and he'd _found_ her. He had done one good thing in his life and it was finding _her_ in the crowd of it all. When he was a boy his Mother had told him once that there was going to be a girl who's smile reminded him of honey and her eyes could distract the very devil himself.

Well, he was the devil and she was the girl.

Draco believes her and above all he **_trusts_** her. It means more to him to trust someone. It means so much that he can't even put it into words for her to understand. He lets out a shaky breath and resists the urge to cry. He doesn't want to do that now. Not here. Not when this was supposed to be warm and happy and not a forever goodbye.

"Alright." His voice is low and soft and when he reaches out for her his fingers curl over her waist. He wants to kiss her so badly that it burns his skin not to do it but instead he simply presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. There was time for kissing when she came back and made a choice.

 _She'd come back._

"I care for you."

 **HERMIONE** :

Whatever speech she could have made to Ron went flying out the window now. Hermione had heavily considered this for quite some time, but now, in this room, and with the relief splashing over his face as though this were some fantastic, sublime revelation… she knew what she needed to do. By now, every single nerve had been worked up to the point where she just wanted this all over and done with. Of course, it was likely that she would avoid mentioning the tryst they'd had, or the moments they shared, or… the fact that she was even friends with Malfoy at all. It would be far too much, far too soon, and Ron was a rather fickle creature. She would need to take all of this one step at a time.

Right now, all she wanted to do was unpack and never leave this room again. Leaving this dorm, even for the holidays, felt like leaving for good. Hermione didn't like that idea. Not in the slightest. Her eyes fluttered to a close as his lips fell gently upon her forehead, almost instinctively resting her palms upon his biceps while she reveled in this silent goodbye.

 _I care for you_.

By now, Hermione's forehead had descended against his chest, enjoying the beating of his heart. The words echoed in her ears and she slowly picked up her chin, guiding her sights up the front of his shirt and to his face, where she met his honesty with a growing smile that put the sun itself to shame. It even outshined the smile she wore when she opened her gift. Nothing could have been more blinding.

"Now _that_ is a present." Her tone was airy and soft. Almost playful. Hermione lingered just for a moment, still beaming brightly. As she stepped away, she let her hands drift down his arms, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before she released him. "Come on," she said gently. "Walk me to Morrigan."


	8. HOME

**DRACO** :

Draco hadn't realized truly how boring it would be at Hogwarts during the holidays. It started off nice enough although a piece of him felt like it was missing and whenever he tried to make tea for himself it just seemed off. It was like he didn't even know his own tea order anymore or perhaps he wasn't stirring it so softly the way she had. The first three days he really set himself to enjoy the alone time with Crookshanks at his side and whenever he thought of her he simply read Wuthering Heights and wondered if she was thinking of him too.

By day seven it was getting sort of pathetic. Even Crookshanks stared at him from the coffee table where he lounged on the couch eating crisps and staring off into nothingness. His hair was a mess and he hadn't changed his clothes for a few nights and the cat just seemed done with his level of boredom and laziness and began to bite at his feet until Draco actually went to go take a shower. He couldn't smell her shampoo anymore and that wretched at his heart when he stepped out into the bathroom filled with self-pity and loathing.

Sometimes he thought of sending her an owl. He didn't need to sign his name or anything and he knew she was smart enough to put together who had sent it but he just. . **_Didn't._** He hadn't wanted to ruin her alone time with her family and friends and secretly he just wanted to continue to feel sorry for himself.

On the day of Christmas, he had gone down to the Great Hall along with the other few stragglers for the holidays, eating food he didn't really want and grunting when the Headmistress gave him a pointed smile and wished him a happy holiday. Pansy had showed up for a while and he was a bit warmed by her caring enough to come see him but she was once again disappointed by his blatant refusal for anything even remotely romantic. It was just getting sad at this point. She gave him a gold watch with diamonds circling the band and his name engraved into the handle and it was sweet of course, although very typical.

His Mother had practically broken the owl's talons with gifts that were dropped to him and again they were mostly typical. Dragonhide gloves and silk shirts. His Father had sent him a leather bound journal with a beautiful _M_ carved into the front of it so that was nice. It just didn't seem like Christmas. Not when he had to wake up to the emptiness of his dorm.

 ** _Their dorm._**

He must have looked mad dashing from his room to the bathroom but he was fixing his hair and smoothing out his shirt in the mirror because she'd be walking through the portrait any second. He'd counted down the days and hours and minutes. She'd be back. He'd convinced himself that even if she wasn't the way he wanted her to be around him. . She was still **_back_**. It was still Granger.

 **HERMIONE** :

The two weeks at the Burrow had been complete and utter _hell_. In the beginning, Hermione considered the notion that she had just been spoiled, having her own dormitory, her own bedroom, her own everything. Not to mention, the company she kept with Malfoy had been so pleasant recently that she hardly had a single vowel to speak in terms of complaint. The Burrow had the exact opposite effect. Where that dormitory had been a safe haven; a sanctuary, the Burrow had been cramped full of family, noisy and disruptive. George seemed to be a little more withdrawn, Harry was caught up in Ginny, and Ron was just… well, he was a little off-kilter as well.

Hermione had spent most of her time in the kitchen with Molly, tending to dishes as she cooked for the family or helping the woman with dinner. Hermione had even decided to clean some areas of the house, just so that Molly wouldn't have to do it later on. Mrs. Weasley had commented several times that Hermione would make a "wonderful addition to the family" and Ron would always shift uncomfortably. Much to Molly's chagrin, Hermione shifted uncomfortably as well.

All and any comments coming from Mrs. Weasley only added to the pressure of the one evening where Hermione had actually managed to speak with Ron alone. Boy, had that been a bust. She had said her piece and waited for a response. Ron had absolutely no legs to stand on in the conversation. After it had been mentioned that he had the gall to forget her birthday, it was pretty much downhill from there. The bottom line was, they weren't compatible anymore, and that was the end of it. Still, Ron had kicked up dust, which shocked Hermione to no end. They fought hard and they slammed doors even harder.

Hermione tried not to smile from the relief she felt when it was over.

The rest of the holiday was essentially miserable. Awkward silences, awkward passings, and even Molly was getting sick of it, to the point where she felt the urge to pull both Ron and Hermione aside on Christmas day and demand civility. Hermione, of course, agreed, but Ronald was stubborn and chose to ignore her existence entirely. Granger found an odd sense of superiority when she had accidentally walked past as Molly was giving Ron an earful.

She found herself sorely tempted to send Malfoy letters several times, but couldn't. She didn't have her own owl, and bogarting Harry's might have been suspicious, since he knew she wasn't really speaking to her parents, and that she didn't really have any friends outside of their immediate circle. Errol was far too old to fly at this point. Hermione never trusted that damn bird to get anything anywhere. So, she was left to wait out the days.

By the end, she was counting down the _seconds_.

All of that washed away the second she set foot back in Hogwarts. The house elves had taken her luggage up to her room and she realized on her way up to her dormitory that she felt _so_ out of shape just from that time away alone. There was about an equal amount of movement in the Burrow, but not like this trek up the countless steps just to get to Morrigan's portrait. Hermione was a little out of breath by the time she reached the entrance.

" _Good afternoon, Miss Granger,_ " Morrigan said, smiling knowingly as she addressed Hermione's panting form. " _You've been away far too long_."

"I really have," Hermione replied with a broadening grin. "The password is still _coddiwomple_ , right?"

Morrigan simply smiled and waved her hand. The portrait swung open and Hermione, still dressed to the nines in her winter attire, and covered in a thin layer of melting snow, climbed up the last of the steps into the common area. Her cheeks were a bright red from the weather and her excessive climbing.

"Hullo!" She called out, her voice a little louder than usual. Her excitement was climbing into her throat.

 **DRACO** :

He could hear the portrait swing open and the immediate sounds of Crookshanks padding quickly down the hallway to meow loudly and demand attention from her. Draco felt the exact same way as he hurried around the corner and was just stuck in the same spot for a moment. She was standing there with her cheeks the color of cherries and her chest rising and falling so heavily that he couldn't help but grin. The stairs really kicked arse if you weren't used to them.

The piano hadn't sounded as beautiful when she was gone. He tried to play the songs they knew together all by himself but they just didn't fit together properly as if he needed an extra set of hands helping him and guiding him to make something so beautiful. He couldn't do it on his own.

Draco had considered for many days exactly how he was going to greet her. Maybe it would be soft and polite like a quick hug or a smile. Maybe it would be distant due to his uncertainty if she had repaired things with Weasley. He even thought of hiding in his room and just ignoring her until his embarrassment of how wrecked he had been without her finally blew over. Her voice was so light and filled with excitement and it made his very hands fill with electricity.

Her voice was the kind that would kill any dark thoughts in your head or your soul and she just made breathing easier in general. She was here and she was happy to see him and the lack of both of those had been his worst fears. Long legs stride forward and he staunches his excitement so he isn't acting like the ginger cat meowing loudly at her heels wanting to be picked up before they had their reunion. Too bad. Crookshanks could fucking **_wait._**

"I made you tea. It's on the counter in there. Three sugars and a bit of milk."

He tried. He had tried to be normal with her and give her time to adjust to him again but he just couldn't. Civility wasn't enough for him and so when he reaches forward to take her freezing cheeks in his hands he devours her lips with his own, not caring of the consequences. He's waited too long.

When had Hermione Granger become his **_oxygen?_**

 **HERMIONE** :

"Hey, Crookshanks!" Hermione greeted the purring feline with the most chipper tone, reaching down to pat his head a few times while she reached for her scarf. She wound it slowly off her neck, allowing herself to breathe a little easier. She worked off her mittens as well by the time she heard feet padding somewhat noiselessly along the steps.

Her stomach churned in both nervousness and excitement and by the time Malfoy had come into view, it was absolutely impossible to hide the grin from her face. Hermione had her fair share of reunions, but not one of them had been so picturesque. When her parents had their memories restored, they were awkward and angry. When Ron had come back during the hunt, Hermione had been positively livid with him. When she had found out that Harry was alive, there was no time for a reunion.

But here, as the snow shed white into the room, as Crookshanks purred and rubbed against her boot, and as Malfoy tried so feebly to make small-talk, Hermione was already stepping eagerly towards him. Her hair was a little wet to the touch with snow melting in it. His hands were far warmer than her frozen cheeks. His mouth was even warmer. Hardly thinking, Hermione let her small hands reach for his wrists. Her fingers were still icy, but that didn't matter.

She fell directly into the kiss. Petals parting slightly to drink in the mint of his breath, which quenched an unknown thirst in her throat. Her hat had fallen from her head and onto the floor. She was none the wiser. All she knew now was that, against the weight of her winter coat, she had slid her arms around his neck and dove head first into the airlock of him, likely soaking his fine shirt in melting snow.

As it went the first time, she had followed his lead, meeting tongues and teeth, lips and small whimpers. Her body now flush against his own, though it felt a little strained because of her excessive amount of layers. January was hardly the friendliest month when it came to the winter season.

Suddenly breathless, she had separated their mouths, but didn't pull away. She just needed real human air for a stint. Although, now she was looking up at him with wide, bright eyes and strawberry fields on her cheeks. Still with a smile.

"Hi," she said finally, only when she couldn't think of anything else.

 **DRACO** :

The blonde had been waiting for something along the lines of rejection or recoil. He could see it all in his head now with her pulling away and sheepishly admitting that her and Weasley had patched things up. He already knew what he would do when it happened given that he'd been practicing in the mirror. He would nod and apologize and assure her that nothing would change and he would begin trying to burn the tethers of emotions that tied her to him. He just wanted one more kiss. He just wanted something to hold onto when he was gazing at her laid across the couch reading and content and he had to remind himself why he couldn't touch her.

He thought he had died when her fingers curled around his wrists. There was no possibility that she wasn't pulling away. Was there? The fear that he had already accepted and compartmentalized vanished in an instant when she went on her toes to return his kiss with all the need that he started it off with. She was kissing him. She was back. Granger was back and he had always been a greedy person, taking anything offered to him. He wanted to consume her before she figured out that he was too awful to be needed this way.

The white shirt he wore stuck to his chest in its dampness and he barely registered the bite of the cold against pale skin because there was nothing that truly mattered outside of what was happening now. His teeth caught her bottom lip just the smallest bit when she had pulled away and there he was staring down at her with heavy breaths and shocked expression.

He didn't want to let her go but he did and his fingers gently unbuttoned her first coat and then unzipped her jacket. He had put the fire on after all knowing that she would likely be freezing from the outside snow which he had always quite enjoyed himself. Taking the clothing he draped it over the back of the armchair not caring if it got wet and really just wanting less clothing to separate them.

"Welcome home."

 _Home_.

He had never had a place to call his home. Home is where you felt the safest in every way. It surrounded you in its softness and promised never to let anything that could destroy you in. **_Home_**. He had a **_home_** and it wasn't this dormitory or this bloody school.

 ** _Granger_** was home, as much as he loathed to admit it.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione would have regretted allowing him to release her, but the effects of her trip and her excessive climbing had begun to take their toll. Plus, with the amount of heat radiating from him, she was more than content without her jacket and coat. She even laughed shyly as he unzipped and unbuttoned her, letting him remove the clothing and set it aside on the armchair.

It was here where he could see that she was happily wearing the sweater he had gotten her, though she instantly regretted wearing it for her trip. She thought that perhaps she should have waited and put it on after she had made that long, grueling trek up the steps. But then, she wouldn't have been able to relish the look of pleasant surprise on his face when he saw her in it, looking cozy as could be as she removed her boots and set them close to the base of the armchair.

 _Home_.

She looked over at him again and Hermione could see that he was right. Home wasn't with her parents, or at the noisy Burrow. It was here, where there was peace and safety; where she didn't have to put on a mask or pretend she liked something when she didn't. Home was something all-consuming, powerful and comfortable. It accepted who she was and asked no questions… or all the questions in the world. Her smile never faded from her face.

"You said something about tea?" She asked, but got her answer the moment she looked curiously into the kitchenette and saw her cup on the counter. Briefly glancing back at him, Hermione said a soft "nevermind" and disappeared momentarily into the room.

She lightly and cautiously swept her tea from the counter and ventured back out into the common room. She was careful not to spill a single drop, eventually slipping into the soft cushions of the couch in front of the fire. She peered up at Malfoy for a moment and blinked, a little exhausted from her journey.

"So… anything interesting happen while I was away?"

 **DRACO** :

The fire that bloomed in his chest when he saw his sweater on her was all consuming and he quickly ducks his face away from her so she won't see the embarrassingly large smile that crosses his lips. He had to step back so she could remove her boots and he almost felt like a puppy not wanting to venture too far with the fear that she might disappear. She's just said something about the tea and his mouth opens to answer before she's disappearing into the kitchenette. His body tells him to follow her but he remains rooted to his spot. That was too much. _Calm down._

When she came back into the room his mood improved immediately and he waited a moment to think over the question before sliding into the seat beside her. The couch was much more comfortable here than it had been in the Slytherin common room. They were always so concerned about looking elegant that they hardly cared about comfort. "Sure. **_Plenty_** of things." He quickly wracked his brain, given that he had literally done nothing for the entire two weeks of her being gone.

"Your beast of an animal threw up on my pillows so that was fun. I left the stove on for too long and had to repair one of the cabinets because it caught on fire. I got new shirts and a journal from my parents and Pansy stopped in to say hello." He was listing all the eventful things at least. When he mentions Pansy he makes sure to quickly correct himself. "She showed up in the Great Hall. We ate for a bit and she went back home and all." It was just subtle enough that it perhaps wasn't obvious that he thought she might be jealous or mad even.

"I read Wuthering Heights for the fiftieth time and was practically ran down by Slughorn on New Years. Apparently I was offered a position in Political Affairs in the Ministry. Head of Political Affairs, actually." He hadn't accepted and he didn't plan on it. He was good at politics but. . It wasn't something he could do long term without becoming that sharp egotistical snob he had been during his younger years.

Skipping that as if it wasn't important he rested his hand on her knee easily. It was obvious that this wasn't new to him. Not the intimacy at least. The kissing or tension. He knew it well and he was good at it above all. "I spent most of it listening to Crookshanks moan for you to get back. I might have missed you too. . **_A bit._** "

 **HERMIONE** :

The body relaxed when he sank into the cushions and occupied the space next to her. Almost instantly, Hermione drew her feet up, sitting cross-legged in black leggings and dwarfing green sweater with her tea settled in her lap. She sipped on it idly while he went through the events of the last two weeks. She suddenly felt as though he might have had more alleviated boredom than she did. Apart from the tension and bustling around the Burrow, Hermione grew rather bored when nighttime came around and everyone was asleep. The Weasleys didn't have a piano to venture down to in the middle of the night.

She laughed now and then at a few of the stories, namely Crookshanks' mess and the cabinet fire. Hermione would always deny any spark of jealousy she might have felt at the mention of Pansy and, surprisingly enough, she hid it rather well, simply nodding along for him to continue while she listened and thawed in front of the fire. At the mention of a position at the Ministry, she grinned and raised her eyebrows, silently congratulating his success, though by the way he allowed it to linger, she got the feeling he wasn't eager to accept the job.

Her eyes fell to the hand on her knee, intrigued by how natural a gesture it was. She made no move to shrink away or scold him for it. Not this time. In spite of her nervousness when it came to physical interaction, she had never been happier to be _home_. Everything felt natural, even being as close to him as she was.

"Well… I find myself suddenly envious of you," Hermione replied finally. She took another sip of her tea, and when she found that it was cool enough to hold with one hand, she reached down and casually linked her fingers with his own while leaning back into the cushion of the couch. "My time at the Burrow was… in a word… a _nightmare_." At the abruptness of the truth, she laughed a little to herself. "I adore all of them, but during the holidays… or, pretty much any day… it's really hectic. All the family shows up, everyone's loud."

She looked as though she were trying to make gestures, but refused to release his hand or put down her tea. Her fingers were warming up.

"I spoke to Ron. Again, _nightmare_. He got really, _really_ angry. We fought. I slammed a door in his face… literally. We didn't speak to one another for the rest of the two weeks, and that was the third day in, when that happened." Another small sip of her tea before she resigned and set it upon the coffee table, letting her free hand fall into her lap as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the rest. "The rest of it was… awkward… and I just busied myself with helping Mrs. Weasley around the house, counting down until I got back here."

 _Welcome home, indeed._

 **DRACO** :

He couldn't possibly imagine how she would be envious of the time that he had spent alone and agitated in what had become a prison. He at one point had even gone to the Headmistress to ask for work to do early before the prefects had returned. Besides if he got it done during break it meant that they had less work to do during the school year meaning more time not needing to go hunt down the prefects and hand them schedules thus more time **together.**

The sweater hung just enough where he saw the peeking of her shoulder and it hitched his breath even if he hid it with a slight cough. He was trying to be a good boy who didn't pounce on something when he wanted it. That's how things got ruined, after all.

The linking of their fingers was handled so naturally that it seemed as if they had been doing it all along. Draco wasn't sure if there was a protocol for actual. . _Courting_? The thought of putting what they had into a label such as courting or even dating felt wrong to him as if it wasn't enough or it didn't grasp the concept. He knew sex. He knew how to please a girl and what he wanted in return and exactly the right points to hit on the skin that would cause the fastest reaction. This wasn't sex. Well, hopefully at _some point,_ but that was _beside_ the point.

He knew intimacy in the way of physical touch not so much emotional and so he showed his care in the way he knew how, fingers tightening on her own while she spoke of her time in the Burrow. It was a bit of a surprise that it had been so awful and just imagining being in that environment made him shudder. "I'd fucking **_off_** myself." He mutters until she mentions the Weasley. He's always been bad at hiding his emotional ticks around her and the slight furrowing of his brows and the tightening of his jaw is sign enough that he was waiting for something to hit him like a brick.

But no. She simply informed him of their row and how things had broken off and he immediately relaxes again not even realizing he had been gripping her hand much harder. The mug is placed upon wood and then they're just sitting there looking at each other. Perhaps it was weird and he should have said something. Grey hues were drifting across her own chocolate before dipping down to her lips and then her jaw and then her collarbones. .

"Thank **_fuck_** you're back. You have **_no_** idea how shite it was." And just like that they hadn't confirmed they were dating or together or any of that superficial shite that always ended up backfiring on people when they boasted about what they had. It was just them and the emotions that were held now.

"Can we kiss more now?" The question is simple and filled with mischief even when he's trying to hide the smirk that threatens to bloom across his face.

 **HERMIONE** :

Of course, she had taken note of the strong grip he had on her hand, but smoothed her thumb over his knuckle nonetheless as she went through the story. Precaution. There was no real way to let him in on the important information without just saying it all in a breath and getting it over with. The worst had passed, and now she was here. It was strange, having the sudden ability to move forward with whatever this strangeness was between them. Hermione wasn't even positive what she wanted from it. All she really knew was that she was intoxicated, even being in the same room with him. She felt close to him.

He cared for her.

There was even an intensity in the way he jested with her, as though each word was weighted with deeper meaning. It always made her cheeks go red and even now, exhausted from traveling and simply ecstatic to be in a quiet place, she found her flesh sizzling a little more than usual at the blatant suggestion of a kiss, which made her instinctively roll her eyes and scoff at him.

"Funny, I don't recall being asked the first two times you kissed me," she replied, blushing a little deeper at her own honesty. Even talking about kissing had her shy. She digressed. Hermione was never any good when it came to flirtation or passive intimacy. She read so much into simple gestures that her body would react before she even had a chance to process anything.

This happened almost constantly in Malfoy's presence. Building up to a moment like this involved very light gestures, ones that he seemed to initiate the whole way. A brush of the hip or the fingers, leaning in far too close for a friendly boundary. Then, of course, he had started it all off with an incredibly suggestive position in the bathroom all that time ago.

Even Hermione wasn't really familiar with what involved a proper date or _courting_ in general. In the wizarding world, everything was topsy-turvy. Dinner and a movie just didn't factor into the equation. For a stint, she wondered if Malfoy had grown up with alternate customs, but she ultimately chose not to ask. Perhaps it was better if she didn't know.

 **DRACO** :

Draco felt amusement prickle down his spine at how red her cheeks suddenly got at the mere mention of kissing. It was sweet and so gentle that so much innocence could exist in a war-torn person like her. She still had some sort of childhood. Some softness that wasn't ripped apart by scarring and horrors. He had it too he supposed in the small smiles and gentle touches he gave her. The rolling of her eyes makes him roll his eyes back mockingly although his body shifted closer to her. _Always closer._

"I'm quite aware of that fact. I just wanted to see how dark I could make your face. I mean **_honestly_** , Granger it's as if you just can't bear my attractiveness. Understandable of course, but hold it **_together_** , woman." He was always the one initiating things. They weren't always romantic but the undertone was heavy and emanated a warmth they both could bask in. The slip of his hand against her shoulder. The movement trying to get around her in the hallway and briefly pressing against her. His fingers moving her hair out of the way when she was leaning over a cauldron in the common room and she was unable to do it herself.

Each touch meant something. It was to illicit a reaction or a sound or even a feeling in her and he'd yet to fail to get the desired effect. Draco had always had the personality to take what he wanted and lead the way for others to follow. This transferred into intimacy although he was quite aware she was new at all of this.

He was greedy, but he wasn't an asshole. At least not to her anymore. . . _Most of the time._ He didn't want to suddenly take it too far and she was scared of him, because quite honestly, Draco's worst fear was that she would become scared of him.

Without another word he's moving to her and it's only at times like these that it's truly realized how much taller and larger in frame he is. She's small compared to him as he shifts and doesn't seem nervous in the least. His hand is strong and insistent against her legs and within a few moments he had them laid across his lap. Again. The touching was the easy part. She was so close and practically sitting in his lap and it was everything he had been waiting two weeks for.

He hadn't kissed her just yet, and it was obvious why, after his lips ghosted across the expanse of her shoulder that was visible. "It looks good on you. Did you wear it at the Weasleys?" He murmurs as his lips venture further down her shoulder to her collarbones which he has to slightly move the sweater he's talking about for.

 ** _Did you wear it in front of that moronic fucking Weasel?_**

A nicer way of saying it of course.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione adopted a very minor and befuddled expression as Malfoy began to shuffle her legs around. Her limbs tensed a little in attempts to do whatever he needed herself, but when she realized that he was untangling them just to lay them across his lap, she seemed to relax significantly. She was practically sitting in his lap now, and this was a rather fresh position for her, but Hermione had to admit, it was quite enjoyable.

The witch felt herself tense a little more as his lips fell upon the bare part of her shoulder; fingers feathering where they could reach. This was a good tensing, she supposed. Her body had always been hyper-sensitive when it came to Malfoy. All this time, implementing small touches while her paranoia was at its finest. She was forced to pay close attention to the method and the madness, force aside whatever clenched in her abdomen, and ignore the vicious fantasies that gripped the base of her spine.

She had laughed at his comments and mentioned that he was "insufferable", but there was an infuriating truth to his words.

After he had kissed her the first time at the piano bench, that all seemed to worsen. Every brush of his fingers on her body after that triggered the exact same scenario, where she could still feel his hand closing over her thigh. Every time he pressed himself to her, even for a second, made her think of the way she had been held so tightly to him, feeling his heartbeat under her clenched fist as she clung to him for oxygen and life support. She realized now that this was all means to an end. These gestures weren't accidents. Each one of them compiled to something far greater, ensuring that every time he so much as inched closer to her now, her mind instantly flooded and she was putty in his hands.

This was all put into play as he ghosted his lips lightly along her neck, making her sensitive to every remote, teasing touch. Instinctively, her head tilted away from him, unintentionally permitting him more space to explore her flesh. Even the way his fingers curled over the collar of the sweater to tug it aside had her tingling in _very_ wrong places.

Hermione had become so distracted by his mouth that she hadn't even realized her eyes were closed, or that she was releasing very small gasps and heavy breaths every time his mouth closed around her.

"I…" she paused, reaching up on knee-jerk reaction to curl her thin fingers through his hair when he reached a rather familiar, sensitive spot on her collarbone. The dips in her flesh hollowed as she drew in a shaky breath, straining against the overwhelming veracity of him. "I might have… worn it once or twice."

She wouldn't admit that she had worn it the night she fought with Ron. Hermione didn't want to mention it right now. The mere thought of him had killed a moment like this before and she was so blissfully unaware of anything outside of this space that she wanted desperately to keep it that way.

 **DRACO** :

Learning to charm and touch was something that was taught very early in his society. It may have seemed strange but you learned from watching and he had seen his Father work a crowd before. The faint touches to the women's shoulders. The rumble of a voice so low that someone might have been curious to understand him further. Purebloods used what they had and fine breeding was the height of what was possessed. Getting business deals and connections in the Ministry had been as easy as breathing for his Father and Draco had simply picked up the cues without much hesitation at all.

He never touched without a reason behind it. There was never a soft breath or a curling of his fingers that didn't have a purpose in some way or another. Months ago he hadn't wanted anything more with her but yet he still had those little touches between their arguments. It was barely noticeable but over time they had built up and up and up and finally when he was touching her like this she wasn't so uncomfortable. It wasn't taken with a hesitancy that he couldn't handle. Perhaps it was mental conditioning. Manipulation? Same thing. She didn't seem to mind.

Curls float away from the shoulder he was paying attention to as she tilts her head and he can't help but feel that rip of air go through his lungs. Did she understand that each and every movement of her body against his caused his entire body to alight with a burning flame he couldn't control?

Granger's small noises of surprise and pleasure were beginning to become ingrained in his brain and he wanted to memorize each and every illicit noise that emerged from her lips. He's hit the spot intended and he smirks against her skin when fingers come to curl into blonde hair tightly. The fact that he could unhinge **_her,_** the one who prided on being so clearheaded and straight-laced? **_Addicting._**

Draco could feel that lick of possessive pride rage inside of him. She had been in the vicinity of Weasley and worn the gift that **_he_** had purchased her. Good _riddance_. He'd break the morons jaw if he ever saw him again, anyway. "Come on." He murmurs, and it would have been gentle, if he wasn't trying to choke back the growl that erupted from his throat. He initiated the change in her position this time as well and easily his hands are manipulating her hips so she shifts over him.

Her legs are at either side of his thighs so she's straddling his lap giving her a slightly higher vantage point. It was interesting looking up into her toffee eyes instead of down. "It's **easier** this way." He says with an innocent look, as if he was simply making sure she was more comfortable and he had nothing to do with it.

He was on fire but he continued as before with long fingers moving her hair from her shoulder so his teeth can brush across sun kissed skin and then attach to the hollow of her throat.

 **HERMIONE** :

"Oh…"

Okay, so this was new, and though the witch was a little wiser to the cause, she allowed the change in pace with a clouded mind and a heavy breath. Hermione's body had tensed a little as she was lifted and shifted into his lap entirely, only to have her eyes widen a fraction as he guided her knees to hug either side of his hips. By now, she felt as though this was possibly the most compromising position she had ever been in. By now, the collar of the large green sweater had been pulled to one side, almost resting on the middle of her bicep. Legs spread and heat matched, she was flush against him. There were two straps showing from under the sweater. One pink, one black. One belonged to her bra, and the other to her tank top.

In the process of the change in position, both of those straps had fallen gracelessly from her shoulder. Hermione would have struggled a little to pull them back up, but Malfoy appeared to have other plans. He charged with gentle fire towards her neck again and with the new angle, Hermione was shivering. She almost choked on air. Her left hand, now almost completely swallowed by the large sleeve of the sweater, embedded itself in his hair again.

Her hair was now toppling in wild curls over the opposite shoulder, making her feel incredibly warm. A blush crawled from cheeks to chest and the bite initiated at the hollow of her throat is enough to make her squirm in his hold. Hardly uncomfortable. On the contrary, Hermione found herself enjoying the sensations of teeth and tongue. It made her fingers flex unwillingly in his hair.

Her thighs burned and trembled; the effects of the stairs hardly helping her position. She was a quivering, breathless mess and would have likely wound up on the floor of the common room if Malfoy wasn't keeping such a tight grip on her.

He touched each piece of her with unerring sureness, devoured where he could, and Hermione was quickly beginning to question just what pieces of her body still belonged to her. Everything he touched felt branded or possessed; _stolen_ from her. She had become a rather willing victim, sinking into his hold to the point where she didn't even realize that the heat between her thighs was settled directly in the center of his lap. Occasionally, her knees would shiver against his hips or clench like a vice when he hit a particularly sensitive area of her neck.

At one point, his teeth grazed the hollow of her collarbone in such a way that made her hips jerk involuntarily, sliding forward. She wound up meeting a hardness that had, once upon a time, been pressed so firmly into her spine that it was practically unmistakable now. Her eyes snapped shut from the contact, successfully extracting a moan that sounded kittenish. Her fingers tightened instinctively on his hair, tugging gently; a little oblivious to the results of her own prompts.

 **DRACO** :

It was a wonder that she was ever cold at all with how smoldering her body felt against him. She was compliant and curious and he was a willing teacher, breath ghosting over her completely exposed shoulder.

The sweater was so bloody low. . .

If he **_just_**. .

Lips move lower past her collarbones until he's halted by the fabric he finds there. Although it's a beautiful sweater, he wants nothing but to burn it to embers.

His hands were cold when he pressed them to her upper thighs and instinctively tightened into them. Possession was something that ran so rampant in his chest that it was barely noticeable when he made such a claiming grip or tugged at her skin with his teeth.

She was **_his_**.

This intelligent and fascinating mass of breathlessness and pants, was _his_.

He was _hers._

With his touches there wasn't even a shred of hesitancy or doubt in them. They were completely sure and filled with a want for her he couldn't staunch anymore, nor did he ever plan on doing so again. Perhaps it was childish, but he felt he had won. He got this. He got her laughter, her conversation, and her breathless whispers and Weasley got nothing but a memory. It was smug pride that was fueling the dragon in his stomach and pushing away any sense of reason that he should slow down.

He had wanted her since that kiss at the piano, and truthfully, even before then. He'd wanted her when he was lying in bed listening to the sounds of the shower turn on; her soft voice carrying to his ears like a constant reminder that she was there, and beautiful, and wild. He had wanted her when he saw McLaggen looming over her in the hallway and the pure jealous rage had shot down into his very being at even thinking of another man touching her if he couldn't.

It was only when she moved forward against his lap and ground downwards that he felt the shoot of pleasure burn his spine. **_Fuck_**. It was ten times worse when that small moan left her lips and he wanted nothing more than to hear it over and over and over again. Breathing was erratic now as fingers crawled up the hemline of her sweater past her tank top ad gripped onto the warm flesh of her waist. Draco had always been weak around her even during their arguments, crumbling and succumbing to the slamming of doors or snaps for the other to shut up.

 ** _He was weak and she was all powerful._**

" _Granger._ " He hisses while hot breath pants against her shoulder. "You can't. . _Move_ _like_ _that_. I'm barely holding on as is." It was physically painful, to be this hard and not do anything about it. The length strained against his trousers.

He was on thin ice.

 **HERMIONE** :

Of course, Hermione had never thought a position like this would have been torture for him. She always did appear a little blind to whatever effect she could have possibly had. The only times that his self-control had crumbled with her as a witness were enough to count on one hand, so the witch always felt it safe to assume that Malfoy had an impeccable amount of restraint when it came to her. Given that he was accustomed to getting pretty much anything he wanted, the idea of him even remotely coming undone at her own expense was almost uncanny.

So, when he hissed against her skin and warned her not to move, it was enough of a shock to make Hermione freeze, open her eyes, and relax the grip she had on him by a fraction. She suddenly felt very aware of herself, though he was hardly helping as he dug fingers into the skin of her hips and kept her taut against him, consumed by his mouth, even as he spoke. The breath washing over her shoulder had almost been enough for her to repeat the action, just to feel the sensation again, but Hermione forced herself to remain as still as possible, nestled sinfully into his lap.

"S—sorry…" she began, trying to manage her voice and tone, which was failing. The sound of her was an airy balance of strain and slipping inhibitions. Her fingers raked gently along his scalp while her other hand had managed to ball up a fist of his shirt, digging her nails into her palm through the fabric just to maintain a sliver of self-control. "I… I didn't mean to." Even the way she said it sounded like a lie, even though she was genuinely apologetic.

She was realizing very quickly that eliciting these reactions from him was a task most fascinating. Though it was incredibly difficult to conceive that the great Malfoy would melt so easily under her touch, Hermione liked knowing that she wasn't the only one affected when they were so close. His withering control was a comfort, even if a part of her feared the outcome of its disappearance. One more push and she had little doubt that she would see a whole new side of the spectrum.

Still as stone, now that she wasn't moving, that almost made it worse. Her hips were settled into a position where she could feel the hardness of him, pressed right against the most sensitive part of her. She forced her lower body to be rigid, almost painfully aware of the sudden ache she felt in her gut, and the agonizing and creeping knowledge that the only way this kind of pain would be relieved was by sliding herself against him again.

This was a new kind of punishment, she thought. Surely, this had to be a Malfoy-coined method of torture; a punishment for her ever leaving in the first place. Sit here, be still, don't move, and know that every touch will end you. Yes, that was it. She was being punished.

"Perhaps…" she was breathless and barely coherent now. "Perhaps putting me in your lap was a… b—bad idea."

 **DRACO** :

Her apology sounded like the heaps of sugar he wanted in his tea because it was too bitter. **_He_** was too bitter and she was the smooth sweet softness that curled around his form and promised to help him feel better if even for a moment. Sometimes he felt like his entire body was covered in cuts and slices just oozing all the horrid disgusting things he'd ever done. Each one of Granger's smiles or laughs or words were like the stitches holding everything together and forcing him to keep going.

He had forgotten to breathe for a moment so he inhales quickly although his fingers never do loosen up. He was gripping her so tightly that he wouldn't be surprised if he bruised the sharp curvatures of her hips. She murmured that she hadn't meant to do so and he believed her, even if her voice was so choked and filled with the will to let everything fall around them. She was completely still and he wanted to groan out in frustration. The friction that had given him just a moment of reprieve from his state was gone.

He doesn't usually make much of a sound when he's shagging or touching or anything really. He's the silent type, yet when her fingers raked over his scalp he let out the lightest of strangled groans. It was so sudden it was barely registered coming from his mouth and all the sudden he's staring at her with grey eyes like ice and his body like the fireplace of their _home._

"Tell me something, Granger. When have I ever had a **_good_** idea?"

His shirt was suddenly too stifling. Too restricting with her fingers curled in the fabric on his chest. Bruising grip is abandoned because he's unbuttoning the dress shirt down his chest and yet never letting his eyes leave her own. If he glances down a bit, he can see that he's left a few bruising patches across her neck and collarbones and briefly he smirks at the smugness that bursts through his chest like a fluttering bird.

The white expensive material is peeled away from his body and it's different in a way then it had been in the bathroom so long ago. He was closer and the sharpness of his body was more apparent. Malfoy genes were strong and he did have the lean build made for a Seeker. It's also different because he hadn't hidden any of his scars. The ones he could charm hidden he usually did and it was painfully obvious that today he hadn't.

Slivers of silver scars and burns littered his already pale skin which made them stand out even more than usual. Voldemort hadn't exactly been gentle during his random torture fits that seemed to have no purpose at all if only to break him. His arm curls around her waist and he keeps the other one as far from her as possible.

Draco doesn't want the Mark to touch her skin. He doesn't want to taint something so clean and pure with touching the ugly tattoo that sometimes still moved and shifted under his flesh as if it was alive.

"Move. **_Please._** Like before. . ."

 **HERMIONE** :

She hadn't trembled this much in a good long while, but it was all for different reasons. During the war, it was fear that caused these incessant shakes. Here, the quivering was because of conflicting needs and wants, and some unknown drive to please; to kiss, taste, and touch, while simultaneously keeping herself under control. Two weeks without this sort of intensity must have weakened her defenses. Caught up in this insane desire to just get back to Hogwarts and fall into a routine again, Hermione hadn't registered what these touches would feel like after she had gone two weeks without the conditioning. She had been used to him when she left, and now… now it was all fresh and it was rotting her foundations with a beautiful, delicious type of malice.

Hermione looked down at him with soft, honeyed eyes, almost in a daze while he pulled back to unbutton his shirt. Her tummy twitched with slight nervousness, but a larger part of her was grateful that she had more terrain to actually _feel_ of him. The scars on his skin registered briefly; a little darker than his paleness. They contrasted, weaved around him, and made home on him. She pressed half-covered, tentative fingers on his chest, sprawling them gently as though she were attempting to use gentle, wandless magic to heal them.

When nothing happened, she met his eyes again, traveling the terrain of his sharp expression while registering the word **_please_** , which sounded incredibly foreign on his tongue. It came to her then that she was in a very minor position of control. She was above, and he was beneath. Hermione had never been the type to take advantage of having the upper hand, and the power suddenly felt unwanted, but she decided to make due with compliance and somewhat encouraging gestures.

First, she wanted both hands on her. Not just one. The witch had grown accustomed to that Mark by now. It had touched her before, and she never shuddered, because it didn't matter what was on him. All that mattered was _him_. So, she reached for his left hand and guided it at a turtle's pace with shaken fingers. She started quaveringly at the top of her thigh and glided it back to its rightful place, on the flesh of her hip, where small red marks had already begun to form from his grip.

Second, she wanted to kiss him. Her eyes fluttered to a close as she dipped her head to capture his lips. But here, it was unlike before. It was not hard, or consuming, or overwhelming. It was a shaken mess ghosting lightly – almost in a tease – over his own mouth. Her lips had parted slightly, dragging hot breath over the petals with virginal peace, testing the waters of him. In the process, a timid and curious tip of her tongue had lightly grazed his lower lip and she blushed, feeling terribly silly because she wanted to taste him. Eventually, she caved to her own desires, eased his mouth open with her own, and the embers seemed to spiral into flames.

Third, she wanted to comply. Finally, her left hand had delved back into his hair as her other traveled along the sinewy build of his arm and clasped almost desperately around his shoulder, digging nails in very lightly. While allowing herself to fall deeper into the kiss, she relaxed her body against his own. Her hips shivered down into him and she shifted, feeling more pressure from the hardness of him against that _sensitive_ spot. On instinct, her hips rolled, inexperienced and fragile, generating a hot and blinding friction. Another moan mewled from her throat, vibrating the trill lightly onto his tongue.

 **DRACO** :

Perhaps, in some way, he thought if he gave her an inkling of control over the situation, it could calm him and the blood boiling just beneath the surface of his skin. Perhaps it would remind him where they were and her state of innocence and implore him to be a gentleman or the better person. It's only when her fingers curl over his chest that he remembers he was never a good person to begin with and pretending to be was just straining his very limbs. **Please**. He had said it perhaps twice in her presence to date. Draco was never one to ask or beg for something. He took it, and damned the consequences, but with her he wanted to be _**sure**_. He wanted there to be no doubt that she melted into him out of her own will and not his coaxing.

He had noted that her hands held the smallest bit of roughness to them. It wasn't calloused like she had worked all her life but there was an earthy strength to those fingers and the way they wrapped around his hand to pull it to her frame again. His own were soft and smooth as were most Purebloods given they hadn't had to lift anything a day in their lives. Draco was slightly different, of course. He had strengthened his hands with the clenching of his fists when he listened to the screams of the Muggles that his Aunt enjoyed playing with like toys.

He almost fights her. He almost stiffens and pulls his arm away but better judgement tells him not to and when digits reach her thigh, he can feel his resolve crumbling. Slowly, she guides him up and up and up and finally he curls around her hip again to pull her as close as physically possible, maybe even more.

Granger initiated this kiss and it was strange for a moment, although not pondered for long, due to the intoxicating drunk quality that her taste seemed to wash over him. This kiss was slower and barely there and he wanted to strain to have more; have her closer. _Always closer.  
_  
Resolve was lost as soon as those hips, like Aphrodite's curse, moved against him, and there was just a moment of release because of the friction. She didn't quite know what she was doing and he reveled in it. Some secret part enjoyed that he'd be the one to teach her everything. To _corrupt_ her. To _**consume**_ her completely, as nobody else had.

 _ **Control was a distant memory now.**_

She was light and he was strong and it was quite easy to lift her up. Arms curl around her waist to keep her supported, even if her legs had wrapped around his hips. The thought of which room to go to was brief and it seemed that he decided on his own, carrying her without a word spoken. When they entered he let her down and slammed the door in Crookshanks' annoyed, pug-looking face.

There was barely an opportunity to breath before he was backing her into a wall and pressing himself against her completely with lips devouring her own in quick pants and clashing teeth. Any semblance of restraint had now gone completely out the window and the only way he would stop is if she specifically told him to. It would be painful and he would probably have to take a walk to cool off, but he'd still detach from her.

The hands that had caused marks on her hips were now lifting the hem of her sweater up and over her head and abandoning it on the ground without much care for it at all. The same happens with her tank top and the slight growl he lets out against her throat is enough to clearly state that the feeling of so much bare skin pressed together is soul-trapping.

He knows that he should have the small decency to ask her if this is alright but in the back of his mind he knows that she'll stop him if she needs to.

"I _**knew**_ there was a birth mark." He comments smugly, when at one point, he's broken away slightly enough to glance down her frame and catches the small thing on her hip.

 **HERMIONE** :

She must have known. She _must have_. Pressuring something like this for so long, only to tease like this, it was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. Hermione must have known, somewhere deep down, that when he begged for her to move again, a part of him was baiting her. Move again and be consumed. A part of her must have lulled herself into thinking that this was a safe journey, and that he would not push himself to the point of no return.

Inadvertently, it appeared as though Hermione was the one who set off the explosion. She fed into the request and tampered with a volcano. Now, she shocked even herself by appearing to both fear and revel in her success when all his control had shot directly out the window.

For a moment, a sliver of her got cold feet. It simmered and nagged in the back of her mind while on the path to his bedroom. It jumped to the front of her mind when the door was almost wildly slammed in Crookshanks' prodding face. However, the very millisecond she found herself against the wall, very suddenly half-naked, and with Malfoy growling into the hollow of her throat in the midst of devouring every inch of flesh he could reach… well, she was suddenly hot again, to say the least. She had even found herself involuntarily letting out a very strangled moan when he pressed his skin flush against her own, hardly realizing she needed this closeness to _breathe_ until now.

She almost hadn't registered that he pulled away to drift his gaze down her body. Hermione felt a little _on display_ and now, reminded of the night that he had seen her right when she hadn't closed her robe fast enough… well, it had become intimidating. Under the impression this whole time that he had forgotten about that night, Hermione got a hard dose of reality that made her blush deeply and become self-conscious. Perhaps that was supposed to happen when she was about to enter something she had never done before.

"I didn't realize you…" she paused, searching for the words in her frantic state, " _remembered_ that night."

She laughed at herself just then, hating the idea of bringing it up. Hermione inched closer to him while she forced her gaze to lift and meet his. Immediately, she wanted to hide herself away in something, and her clothes were too far. He was the next best option. Her lips were deliciously swollen now. Her hair wild and curly, spilling around her shoulders like she was some sort of wood nymph. Even in just her leggings and bra, she felt more exposed than ever.

 **DRACO** :

There wasn't even a thought that she could somehow be self-conscious. He wouldn't understand or how she could find herself something to hide away in embarrassment. Not from him. She's beautiful and lithe and young against him and there isn't a moment of hesitation from his part that this wasn't holy or good.

 _She_ was the best thing about him now.

She was red cheeked and soft when those words reached his ears like an unsure flutter. Of course, he remembered that night or at least that part of it. He had spent hours awake in his room imagining the other piece of the puzzle that was her body and holding his breath to the thought of curved hips and toned stomach. It had been a fantasy that he clung to whenever he needed some sort of relief and a cold shower.

Draco could watch her for hours and not become bored, but that was for another time. Another emotion. All this lust and need had been piling on for months and it had exploded into a cosmic event he couldn't ignore. He was never the one to just come out and murmur compliments to his lovers, because he never saw the need in it. **_Obviously,_** he thought them attractive if he was willing to sleep with them so what was the point? She was different. He felt the need to tell her she was glorious, and it wasn't for himself. He needed **_her_** to know it.

"You're beautiful."

His words are drowned in roughness that he has to push past for her to understand him. It's hard trying to communicate when all you wanted to do was. .. _Well._ It was a basic human want after all.

His bed was as beautiful as one would imagine with thick green covers and feather pillows that oozed pure comfort and higher class living. He wanted to see her laid across the duvet he was bought with Pureblooded money and greed. He wanted to deface everything he understood and knew with her status, and not care for the consequences of it afterward.

Lips meet hers, maddeningly demanding again, as his hands steer her hips in the opposite direction until he's backing her up to the bed. The backs of her knee's hit the mattress but he didn't force it any more than that. After all, she still had clothing on that needed to be taken care of accordingly.

His fingers unclasp her bra, with perhaps too much skill, and he abandons it on the ground as he had with her other articles of clothing. **_Fuck._** The complete expanse of her bare torso pressing to his was something he had only dreamed of and then berated himself for thinking excessively about every time his eyes closed.

Draco had to wonder how he could have ever looked at her and thought her dirty, or less of a person. How could someone stare down someone so perfectly beautiful, but still human and flawed, and call it unholy?

 **HERMIONE** :

It was difficult to think logically, particularly when Malfoy seemed to secretly develop a knack for shutting her up with kisses that blew any train of thought or doubt out of her mind entirely. Perhaps she would have smiled or thanked him, or even kissed him herself, if she had a chance to respond to being called _beautiful_. But everything happened so quickly. Her body was blindly steered towards a surface she could frighteningly conclude as the bed, which always looked so comfortable. The backs of her legs hit the very precipice, and something sparked in the base of her belly, calling out to him.

Something felt painfully _empty_. The ache had returned, which made her actively push aside all and any fear or anxiety. She hadn't really remembered to be scared when she heard something fall to the floor and stiffened when she realized it was her bra. Chilled air hit her chest, making peaks pebble while she became intoxicated on the desperate and claiming kisses bestowed on her. Each one better than the last. She still fumbled a little, but she was learning to keep up.

By now, her mouth was raw. Her hands were in his hair. A part of her consciously trying to cover herself with him, since every article of clothing seemed to be randomly strewn about the room. Hermione could feel her legs becoming weak, and she almost reached for her own leggings to pull them down and get the immediate exposure over with, but she forced herself to keep focus strictly on him. Something in the back of her mind told her that if anyone was allowed to undress her at this point, it was him.

Her chest meshed to his own of its own accord, which only ripped another kittenish moan from her throat. Her nails dug a little deeper into flesh as her sensitivity began to kick in, and her body began to quake a little harder while she tried desperately to find a method in this madness. All she knew now was that she was slowly being stripped bare by him, and soon… well, she didn't know what was going to happen. Still, there was a frenzied and desperate comfort he provided that assured her she likely wouldn't be disappointed.

Every shift against his chest sent jolts through her body, beginning to generate an uncomfortable heat between her thighs. Her hands gradually slid down Malfoy's torso, trembling and unsure. Perhaps she thought she would be brave enough to attempt undressing him, but that didn't work out. She digressed and she became shy, having absolutely no prowess here, and merely settled for curling her quivering fingers around his belt while she pressed herself a little further into him.

 **DRACO** :

Life had taught him that being bare for someone was one of the hardest things to do. To bare yourself for their eyes and soul and touch and become vulnerable to whatever opinions or comments they had about it. Opening a locked cage without a key is sometimes a messy and destructive process and that's what had happened with them. He had thrown away his key but she pried and pried at his resolve until the cage began to crack in a mess of screaming and name calling. Now they were here.

The hard press of her chest against his lets a guttural moan sound from his throat. The soft innocence and unsure touch could be staggering for some men, he was sure, but for him it was ideal. He had to remember that she didn't know what was good and what was not, or anything he would like or frown at (although he wasn't sure she could do anything to turn him off at this point) and it was staggering for her how fast it all was.

Draco was taking and _taking_ and **_taking_** , but he gave her back so much in return. He poured life through the way his hands had crawled from her hips up to her hair to knot in it, just before dropping the waistband of her legging. He gives her a look of pure admiration as he kneels down for a moment to slowly pull them down her legs and help her step out of them, lips pressing to her knee and tracing up her thigh until he was level with her again.

She hesitated at his belt before and there was time for him to teach her how to undo it. There was time for her to undress him, too.

One day.

 ** _Not today._**

This is the longest they've gone so far without kissing and it's because he's separated from her just enough so he can slide the dark leather out of the buckle with an insistent ring of metal that reached both of their ears. When he pushed them down it was so dreadfully obvious that he wanted her. Honestly, you really couldn't miss it with how tight his boxers were.

It's only then when he tips her back and easily maneuvers her body on the bed to make sure that she's comfortable. Draco looms over her, but one arm is support himself as not to crush her while his hips desperately press into the last bit of cloth that's covering her.

"I'll take it easy, alright?" It strained him to promise her this because all he wanted to do was get lost in the way she felt, but it'd be painful. It was her first time, after all. "Are you **_sure_** you want this?"

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione could have sworn that she had prepared herself for this on some level. With how she allowed herself to become so inebriated by every kiss and noise she elicited from him, this kind of anticipation and nervousness could have only been brought on by time and subtle preparation.

Her body tensed a little more as her leggings were slipped down her frame and worked off each foot. A few whimpered breaths slipped past parted lips and she clenched her fists a little to quell any anxiety she could have possibly felt. She was brave, damn it. She wasn't glass. She was strong, and she was ready.

This kind of knowledge only made her blush harder as he stood and began working himself out of his slacks. Hermione had forced herself to keep her eyes on his own, since a single flash downwards had caused her heart to leap into her throat. Was this the real effect she had on him? It was a little… intimidating. Nonetheless, she swallowed it all down and caved needlessly as he gently guided her onto the bed, still trembling, but far more comfortable being nestled in the soft, expensive sheets.

His hips nudged into her own, and she felt her body grow hot in response, now with a mind of its own. Her own curled up, trembling and needy. His voice almost sounded a world away and Hermione found herself chewing on her lower lip as she prepared herself for the fall. This was a big step forward, and something she never thought she would be sharing anytime soon. At the same time, something inside of her knew that if she stopped him… if she got up and ran from the room… she wouldn't know what it was to be brave with him.

Her chin raised a little in defiance of whatever nervousness she might have felt, and she nodded firmly.

"I trust you," she replied, swallowing hard when she realized how true the words were.

 **DRACO** :

 _I trust you_

There's a flash of her in his childhood home that never really felt like home. She's laying there still and silent and for a moment he wondered if she was dead. Left to die here on his floor with her impure blood dripping all over the expensive, beautiful wood.

He was watching her with his jaw shaking as he held back tears and his fists so tight that he could have swung at anyone who approached him too quickly. He hated her, but he never wanted her _dead_. This was never supposed to happen. People were never supposed to **_die_**.

When Potter is shoved in front of his face and both his Aunt and his Father are begging him to prove it. To say that this was the boy they were looking for. This was it. The answer was at the tip of his tongue to confirm, but then he hears it. She whimpers only slightly and her fingers twitch when his eyes seal onto her on the ground. Alive. She's **_alive._**  
 ** _  
"I can't be sure. I don't know."_**

When they escape he breathes out a sigh of relief, because maybe there's hope. Then he breaks down.

 _I trust you._

"Thank you." The words are delivered with such a soft sincerity it would be impossible not to believe him. He's grateful for her. Grateful for this acceptance and what she was giving him. His fingers hook into the sides of her knickers and pull them down over long tanned legs before he makes quick work of his own boxers without much care. **Shite**. He pauses and reaches over blindly on the nightstand to grip his wand before pressing it lightly to her stomach. It heats up for a moment at his whispered command and then he abandons the wand to the floor with everything else.

"Contraceptive." He answers in one word while settling himself between her legs and burying his face in the crook of her neck, quite content on trying to distract her as he starts pushing forward with an agonizing slowness. All he wants is to completely bury himself inside of her, as every cell in his body is telling him to do, but his pace is slow, even as the tightness of her beckons him in.

 **HERMIONE** :

The tone washes over her, calming every nerve. _Thank you_. Hermione could have sworn she'd never heard those words leave his lips before, but the honesty was overwhelming. It shook her to the very foundations and she couldn't help but ease a bit more into the moment with an evenly-placed smile. At one point, she couldn't suppress a small laugh at the removal of her knickers. His fingers had lightly brushed over a rather ticklish spot just under her kneecaps.

The tension, for the most part, seemed to vanish. By the time he crawled over her again and made quick use of his wand, she was practically pining for him. Instinctively, her legs coiled around his own, and she found herself blushing deeply when she felt him position himself and realized she was almost painfully slick. He didn't seem to mind as he pressed onward, pushing past the initial barrier and inching in at a very slow, almost agonizing pace.

Her mind was suddenly, irrevocably blank. Her hands crawled lightly up his back and eventually gripped his shoulders, just behind the blades, when he reached the point of no return and pushed right through. Hermione cringed at the tear of flesh within, squirming a little under him, but with every furthered motion, she found a dull ache beginning to surface… only to slowly ebb away through time.

She didn't realize that she was panting by now, or that her nails were digging a little harder into him than usual. Eventually, she eased her grip on him when the pain began to slip away, and all that replaced it was a strange sensation – one that began to wipe her senses clean. The _empty_ piece in her stomach that she'd felt suddenly seemed completed, though it made her hips twitch with an early onset need that beckoned for _something_. Maybe motion. She remembered how the buck of her hips had caused such palpable, tingling sensations along her body when they were situated on the couch.

In curiosity, she mirrored the motion she remembered, lifting her hips to get some friction. It gave her the tiniest jolt of pleasure and she whimpered, but it didn't feel like enough. Her face buried into the crook of his neck.

"Move," she begged in a gentle voice, rocking her hips very subtly, very softly. " _Please_ … I need more."

 **DRACO** ;

His heart felt as if it was going to expel from his chest at any second because of how hard it was beating, and how desperately he wanted to move faster. It was like a constant voice in his head telling him to please himself and yet he kept his pace of slow and steady, but not stopping even when he felt her cringe into the bed and buck away from him a bit. It was natural, after all. Her body was fighting out the intrusion, which caused her to throb and tighten around him, to the point that he wondered how something so painful for her could be so terrifyingly pleasurable for him.

Her lips were parted and he could feel the tickling of quick breaths coat his face with the agonizingly slow push inside of her. The nails that made indentations on his skin were barely even registered, and if he was being quite honest, he would let her claw him to shreds if it meant he could feel this pleasure again.

Just when he was absolutely sure that it couldn't feel any better even if he tried, she curled her hips upward which caused him to sink further into her than he had been before, and he swore he saw stars with how sharp and precise the sensation was. It hit directly into his abdomen and before he could react, there was a feeling of lips at his neck and she was **_begging_**.

Hips arch upwards because he knows the perfect spot to hit just near the front of her walls, lips parting to let out what almost sounded like a pained groan. _More_. The condensation of his hot breath is on her shoulder as his body seemingly jerks alive at her request and each sharp and angled thrust into her is like a new promise. She was hot and wet and agonizingly tight. He swore, there was _nothing_ he had felt before that _ever_ amounted to this.

It's as if suddenly all the passion that he shows her in the piano becomes reality with her. All the emotion and domination and sheer control he oozes becomes so apparent when he separates them just enough so their glazed eyes can meet. His pupils are blown and his volatile breaths cradle her lips.

He can be kind when he wants to be, and sometimes downright gentle.

This wasn't one of those times.

 ** _"You're mine."  
_**  
His voice is broken and strained but it still commanded a certain respect. It exuded power and possessive nature he could never control.

This was hard and fast and so bloody desperate that it was almost pathetic. He was so desperate for her and to feel her unravel beneath him. Sex had always been good but it had never been fucking fantastic to the point of where he couldn't even **_breathe_** properly. The familiar feeling of orgasm building in his stomach is so close, but he'd be fucked if he didn't have her come first, hand dropping down in between them so his fingers could stroke at the bundle of nerves that women always favored.

 **HERMIONE** :

Almost instantly, Malfoy's hips snapped into her own at a new angle, hard and fast. This alone was enough to rip a very surprised, strangled cry from her lungs, almost rendering her completely breathless. There was a little pain in the beginning of this new tempo, but her body instinctively numbed her to its effects after a short time. Eventually, all she felt was pleasure tearing through her one sharp stroke at a time. Her body tensed for new reasons. Ripples of pleasure attacked in boundless waves, shooting her over one unfamiliar, terrifying edge after another. There was an incessant, almost innocent pummeling against a button deep in the core, which made her squirm and quiver under him as her hands clutched and scraped up every piece of his flesh that she could find.

The onslaught left her with nothing. It ruined her. Every defensive amount of anxiousness or terror had been realized and ultimately beaten down into nothing. All that was left was a raw, uninhibited passion that Hermione found she couldn't control. She didn't want to control it. She found a small, pulsing rhythm with her hips that softly met every stony, hard push he made. It only resulted in endless whimpers and high-pitched, almost melodic moans.

She lost herself now. There was white flashing behind her eyes, her body was a quivering mess under him, and she was sure that at one point, her legs were beginning to go numb. She didn't care. None of it mattered. She was being ripped apart in the most pleasurable way. Walls within trembled and pulsed rapidly around the invasion. She could feel it all trying to push it out to the point where the reflex only caused more rippling waves of ecstasy to tear open her from the inside.

His breath on her neck wasn't helping her find control. It was a tickling, rapid succession; a reminder of _who_ it was – _who_ had gotten this privilege and greedily consumed the prize with every buck of his hips. She found herself pulling hard on his hair again while her other hand dug nails deeper into his back. She hadn't even realized how much she was writhing. All she knew was that it was too much, she couldn't _breathe_ and she couldn't keep still. The need was a battering ram that kept her desperately clawing at him like some instinct-driven animal.

He pulled back from her. Her eyes were wide as she met his gaze, wild, unhinged, frantic and _needing_.

 _You're mine_.

She felt a rush between her thighs just then, coating the passage and welcoming more of this crazed, unhinged possession of his. Her body betrayed her, enjoying the claim to the point where it welcomed him more into the fold, clenching tighter around him as if warning him not to leave. She desperately imprisoned his mouth in a kiss, bucking her hips upwards at first, but stopping and releasing a hard moan of approval when he reached between their bodies to give her a new experience of maddening ecstasy.

Everything was climbing, building, and tearing into her at such rapid speeds. Her eyes slammed shut and white spots returned behind her eyelids. Each assault of his hips, combined with the deadly, skillful strokes of his fingers, left her with absolutely no avenue of escape. Their limbs twisted together and sweat began forming at the nape of her neck. Overheated. Taken over. Each pulse still slamming mercilessly against that damn button.

Her spine arched away from the bed, creating a lovely half-moon shape as she was taken over by her climax. Pleasure raked through from head to toe and her sounds began increasing in pitch and volume. Every inch of her came alive and she was shoved relentlessly off the edge, tearing through the air in breathless pants and pleading. Every continued thrust just prolonged the event, and soon enough, she was left clinging to him, riding out whatever was left of this overwhelming, addictive violation.

 **DRACO** :

He could feel the way she reacted against him at his claim over her. Her body begged and curled and cried against his own like he was a god and her quivering flesh was a willing sacrifice. There had never been a time that he felt more like an ethereal being then when her nails curled over his flesh and deep moans emerged from her throat.

People talked about waiting for the right person and he had always scoffed at it because it had seemed so ridiculous to him. Sex was sex. It wasn't suddenly special and an overpowering experience just because you cared about the person you were shagging. How wrong he had been this entire time. He understood immediately what all the fuss was about.

Any hesitation he might have had before was now gone and he was left with this swirling universe of pure ecstatic pleasure. Her hips arched and pressed into his own with each sharp thrust inside of her and it was beginning to make his vision go blurry. Dreams hadn't prepared him for how earth-shattering she would feel underneath him. Her fingers pulled so tightly on his hair that he felt the sting, but he enjoyed it. He fucking reveled in it.

There was a certain pleasure in taking something that was pure and claiming it as yours, without any intention of _**ever**_ sharing it.

There was a feeling inside of her when she heard his claiming words. A tightening that made him dizzy and his lungs heave to work. The kiss they share is messy and not organized in the least, lips crashing into one another before separating for the air they desperately needed. There was no more grace in this because it had all boiled down to pure animal _**instinct**_. There was a flash of thankfulness that he had remembered the contraceptive because honestly he couldn't have pulled out in time. Not at this rate, with _her_ of all people, who he had fantasized about for much too long.

 _Closer._

 _Closer._

 _ **Closer…**_

 _ **There it was.**_

" _Good girl._ " His lips press to her ear when she arched off the bed, just when she had fallen off the precipice of her climax.

She jerked and cried out and the tightening around him, paired with the permission that she had taken her pleasure, he could feel his own stomach tightening.

 _ **Fuck**_.

An arm wraps around her waist to keep her completely flushed against him as he drives into her for a final time and his teeth bite down on her shoulder to stifle the groan of pleasure that has his brain turn into absolute hot mush.

Slick skin pressed together as he panted over her and released her shoulder from his teeth noticing that the indentations were a bit deeper than he had wanted. Releasing her completely he pulls out of her and lays on his back just taking a moment to remember where he was and come down from the clouds where he had apparently floated off to for several long moments. He doesn't even attempt speaking and simply lets them both catch their breaths given the heavy panting from two sets of lungs.

 **HERMIONE** :

Perhaps possession was a fickle thing, but in this instance, it was practically a godsend. By the time everything simmered, Hermione hadn't even realized just how tightly she had been clinging to him until he had pulled back from biting deep into her shoulder. She almost hadn't noticed the pain until the aftermath began settling in. She untangled herself from him as he moved to lay on his back next to her, both parties entirely and wholly satisfied, and adorning pleasantly surprised expressions.

Her air intake had been rapid at first, but the pattern eventually died down. A thin layer of sweat had coated her and for a moment, she was rather shocked at her own frivolity. She had just come home, she had just gotten out of… well, it couldn't really be called a 'relationship'. No more than an hour in this dorm, and already, she was naked in his bed. Hermione almost wanted to laugh at herself, but in honesty, she couldn't even consider regretting this. Not even for a second.

She was exceedingly lucky that her uniform would cover most of these marks. By now, she was bruised and torn into. She never once thought that it would feel _this good_ to be so ravaged of strength and innocence. In the moment, she had managed to find herself a new addiction, apart from reading. If this was what she had to look forward to with… _whatever this was_ … she certainly refused to complain about it.

Hermione finally turned her head to face him, an unmistakable brightness in her eyes, mixed well with divine exhaustion. Her wrists were idly covering her chest, still a little squeamish about being so bare. She supposed it would take some getting used to, but the process would likely be absolutely riveting.

"Is it always that good?" She asked finally, the curiosity nagging in the back of her mind. Hermione really had no basis for comparison. Ever the seeker of knowledge, it was probably best to ask the one with the most experience in the room.

 **DRACO** :

The ragged breathing eventually calms down and he's left to just lay there feeling like he was glowing and also his limbs were heavy and completely tired. The quick replay of life was flitting through his brain and he was trying to connect the pieces all at once. He had been a Death Eater under Lord Voldemort. He'd walked across the battle to stand with his family. They'd left and been pardoned for their involvement in it. He had come back to Hogwarts to finish his final year and was loathe to find out that him and Granger would be dorming together. And now. . Now this had happened.

It was jarring and shocking and he was so used to those two things being bad but in this case it wasn't. Not at all. He can't recall a time that he felt more content and comfortable in his life and he didn't plan on ruining that.

Now that he was slightly more clear headed it was time to look over at her. Just in time too for her question and a slow smirk spreads across his lips. " ** _No_**. You were bloody amazing, you know. A total _natural_." His tone lowers in teasing as he notices the subtle placement of her wrists and without hesitation he leans over and kisses between the valley of her breasts. His hand gently peels her wrists away so teeth can run over each hill accordingly before his grey hues look up to her. "You're fucking _hot_ , Granger. You don't have to be so shy."

 ** _Hot_**. It was never a word he had thought could be used for her. Not in his younger years, and not until he had watched her writhe and cum underneath him with her hipbones pressing into flesh and her chest heaving with pleasure. Yes. She was _certainly_ hot.

Pulling away from the kisses to her chest he presses a chaste one against her lips before sitting up with a slight groan and running his fingers through his mussed hair. His back was stinging and he knew damn well that it was because she had raked it up to hell. It only takes his hand reaching behind him to touch his back and find the smallest droplets of blood against his fingertips. "Look at this. You **_barbarian_**." His voice lowers and he glances back to her.

Well. . He had sure left his mark on her as well with those hickies, the bite mark and the bruising already forming on her hips. Maybe they were both a bit barbaric.

 **HERMIONE** :

Compliments in this particular happenstance, were too much. A blush had instantly splashed across her cheeks, making them almost as red as they were the second she walked past Morrigan's portrait. The weather outside was forgotten, and as he leaned over to begin peppering kisses between her breasts, eventually easing her feeble cover away from her body, she let out a series of small, airy laughs. One hand came up to cover her eyes while she tried desperately to avoid the tingling sensations that his lips kicked up in her gut.

His comment made half of her hand lift from one eye so she could study him, still with that red in her cheeks. Still, she smiled, having never seen Malfoy at this angle before. He appeared content as he raked his mouth over her. He crawled up and kissed her lips so innocently, and after an action so new and devious, she never saw him in such an exciting light before.

She laughed once more as he sat upright and witnessed the extent of her damage. Apparently Hermione would need to cut her nails to avoid scratching him all to hell. Not that he seemed to mind in the process. With the events still fresh in her memory, Hermione could vaguely recall a series of growls, possessive expressions, and groans that complimented her onslaught.

"I could say the same for you, you know," she replied in a haughty, playful tone. She pushed herself to sit upright, wiggling her toes to try and get some feeling back in her legs. "All you got were a couple of scratches. You're lucky I wear the school uniform. I don't know how I would explain a bite mark like this to my friends."

In spite of any reprimanding, Hermione couldn't bring herself to stop smiling. It seemed almost blasphemous to fall into any serious notes at this point. Tomorrow, they would be back at school, and though she should have dreaded the routine they would have to fall into again, she didn't. As much as she loathed to admit it, a part of her was just as possessive as Malfoy when it came to this strange relationship they shared. She had something to herself – something nobody else could judge or touch. It was good, it was peaceful, and it was _hers_.

He was _hers_.


	9. TRAITOR

**DRACO** :

It was a wonder that they were able to keep things up as long as they did. Draco had this knack of finding her wherever she was in the school and asking her in quite an official tone to look over the documents he had to send to McGonagall. Of course that always ended in him pressing her back into the wall in the cramped space of the broom closet. Or the Astronomy Tower. Or under the Quidditch Pitch. Variety was key after all and he was much too greedy not to have her attention, or touch, for the entire day.

They had fallen into a routine in the dorm and it felt as natural as breathing when she'd wake up in his bed and pull on one of his shirts to walk barefoot in the kitchen with. She would start some sort of breakfast because (he couldn't deal with the Great Hall food anymore) and always enjoyed when his arms would encircle her waist from behind. Sometimes they had to skip breakfast because there were more important things to do on kitchen counters.

She was still shy but he hardly cared about it because he was active in pulling her hands away from her chest when she felt exposed or making sure to murmur validation into the space between her neck and collarbone that made her squirm the hardest. The piano was still played and it seemed almost more beautiful now that there was something simmering between them. Even when they weren't touching it was so painfully obvious as if there was some sort of invisible tether that connected them.

Currently he had her on the desk in the Charms classroom that they had stumbled into together. She had a class in fifteen and he was missing one to be here, so there was just enough time for them to whisper hushed words of greeting before his lips had begun a trail down her neck and collarbones with his fingers already fast against the buckle of his belt.

She was mewling now, and wanted him just as badly as he wanted her, which was still hard to wrap his head around. Even now, when they never slept apart. His smirk is soft and his fingers curl around his wand for the contraceptive charm that had become possibly his most used spell in the past two weeks.

The sound was subtle. So subtle he almost didn't hear it. And then it was suddenly loud and the door to the classroom shut with a sharp **_bang_** which scared the absolute fuck out of him. Great. He really needed Flitwick getting on his case about th-. . .

He turned and the person staring back at him almost made bile rise up his throat. **_Fuck_**. Her hair was a more golden blonde compared to his but those sharp blue eyes held as much malice as he could provide.

"Daphne." The name is spoken and he hopes that the pure and utter terror isn't able to be heard throughout his voice. Fingers are buckling his belt again and he's subtly stepped a bit in front of Granger as if trying to distract the predator that had just walked in from its meal.

His head is thrumming over and over again the same thing. _Blood traitor. Blood traitor. Blood traitor_. His inheritance gone along with the loving touch of his Mother's hands on his cheeks. The growl his Father would produce as Draco ducked away from a curse aimed at his throat.  
 ** _  
Blood traitor.  
_**  
"Draco. I thought I saw you. . . ** _Stumble in._** "

 **HERMIONE** :

There was something so sublime that followed in the next couple of weeks. They were actually _happy_. Hermione never thought she would grow accustomed to sleeping next to someone else this way, but it happened too often to ignore its comfort. Almost every day was filled with a gratuitous amount of hidden touches, sly glances, and eventual romps in pretty much any location Malfoy could get into at the time. In spite of breaking however many school rules in the process, Hermione always greeted him the very same way she did in the mornings and the evenings. With a smile and an eager kiss.

She was still not brave enough to challenge the idea of wearing skirts instead of slacks, and in this instance, she almost wished she had taken the leap. Skirts appropriated the easiest access, but they were always so uncomfortable. However, slacks were never a friend when it came to quickies. Hermione was learning this the hard way.

Charms was not exactly the riskiest subject, but it was certainly the riskiest classroom. It was placed in a rather high-traffic area, but as long as doors remained spelled shut, they always turned out fine. Hermione trusted Malfoy to take care of that for once, finding herself a little preoccupied with the vast amount of kisses spread from lips to collarbone, and everywhere in between. They were on the clock, which was unfortunate, since Hermione always did enjoy taking her time with this type of intimacy. Still, she was weak, and couldn't help but indulge his eager touches.

 _Carelessness_ was probably the first thing that came to her mind when the loud **bang** sounded across the classroom. Immediately, her head had shot up, catching a glimpse of Daphne Greengrass right before Malfoy had purposely stepped in front of her. Hermione put her head back down and adjusted her robes quickly. Lucky for her, Granger always looked a bit disheveled, so she didn't need to pay too much attention to her appearance. Not like Malfoy.

She said nothing. She knew better. Merlin, this was _so bad_. How could she possibly think that she could have had something to herself for this long? How could she think people wouldn't get nosy? How could either of them be so _careless_?

" _Miss Granger?_ " Hermione froze, her eyes shifting around the room. She almost shrank lower. " _Curious to find you here as well_."

Hermione cringed at the comment, knowing full well – through constant interactions with the very prince of Slytherin – that everything had a deeper meaning when it came to his housemates. She had half a mind to say nothing at all, and didn't even bother waving as she stood slightly beside, yet still slightly behind Malfoy. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, but she couldn't come up with any excuse. Working on schedules? That could have easily been done publicly. What about the belt? There was no method to cover that up, unless she excused that they were dealing with a stain, and in any event, who on earth would believe that?

So, Hermione did something uncharacteristic of herself. For the first time in her life, she kept her mouth shut.

 **DRACO** :

His heart was thumping over and over again and this time it wasn't because of Granger's needy touches and his own lust. It was the sheer fear that coursed through his veins like cold water. It was his fault. He hadn't spelled the door shut because he'd been too wrapped up in the moment. Too wrapped up in her. This was his fault and he would be the one to bear the burden when it came crashing down on his shoulders.

 _Don't say anything._

His mind kept repeating the same sentence over and over hoping that Granger could somehow read his thoughts. He knew his own kind. He knew Daphne. Politics came as easily as lies did flowing from his tongue without a spare thought and it was in that moment that he truly understood how terrified he was of his family never loving him again and casting him away as they had done with a select few of other **_bad apples_**.

"I haven't seen you around, Daph. You've seem to have gone _invisible_ throughout the year." His voice is level and calm even if his body is screaming at him to do something. A brief thought flickered across his mind that he could just. . Kill her. He was good enough at disposing bodies and who would truly care? This world had sent all Slytherins to the bottom of the barrel when it came to their souls. **_Who would care?_**

Daphne moves like the very animal of their house and slithers closer seemingly quite proud of her sudden trap. The girl always did have a knack for ruining lives. "I've been _busy_. . . I see, so have you. Does, **_Narcissa_** know?" It's another power play to call his Mother by her first name. It laid down the foundation of dominance. That she knew the Malfoys outside of him and was very well antiquated enough to be on first name terms.

" ** _What_** would she know?" His shoulders square and his eyes stare her down even if his fingers are beginning to twitch in his agitation. Did, Granger see the tensing of pulse in his neck? Did she see the way his body had gotten so stiff he was barely moving at all? "There's no information to tell her. Anything that did go back to her would be denied and we both know that my word is **_far_** above yours."

 _Parry and repose._ Why was it that their society always had to play chess in every conversation?

"Ah yes. But she **_does_** believe my sister and well. . If _Pansy_ could confirm as well I'm sure she could convince one of her little boyfriends to join in. Four **_concerned_** Pureblooded elites coming to Mrs. Malfoy with the same story? Do the math."

He had absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. His adams apple bobbed and he simply stood there and it was surely a day that would be remembered because Draco Malfoy didn't have a single retort or way to slime himself out of a situation. **_He was stuck._**

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione was frozen. Completely. Occasionally, her gaze wandered to Malfoy, knowing that with every step, he was only digging himself deeper into the abyss. She even found herself concerned that he would clam up and just fall over dead. As much as she enjoyed what she had with him, it was still fragile and new. Something like this could rip it all away. Rip _him_ away. Something rooted deep in her chest was practically wailing for her to avoid that at all costs.

Every single word was making this situation worse by the minute. Hermione's mind continued to race, searching for anything – _any_ opportunity – just to get Daphne to leave. Everything uprooting in her mind was either too farfetched or too threatening. One wrong move and Daphne would run screaming for Pansy instantly. The rest would join in, and it would be hell on earth, particularly for Malfoy. Still, Hermione never could abide blackmail.

… Even though she had initiated blackmail at one point.

Wait… _she_ had initiated blackmail.

 _She_ had helped win a war.

Screw this. Caught or not, at the end of the day, Hermione was not just a washed up _bloody hero_. Clever, resourceful, and exceedingly brave. She was the brightest witch of her age.

And the brightest witch of her age refused to bow down and surrender to someone like Daphne- _bloody_ -Greengrass.

"Speaking of math," Hermione began, stepping up to stand directly beside Malfoy. Perhaps he had never seen her in this light. Her chin was raised. Eyes calm, yet filled to the brim with a new fire – one unlike the fire she often looked at him with – this was a _Fiendfyre_ curse just waiting to happen. "I wonder if you might solve an equation for me, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne didn't falter, but her eyes seemed to shift. Hermione raised both eyebrows, expectant. Cool as a cucumber.

This was the battlefield now, and the battlefield was where Hermione seemed to shine.

" _I can certainly try,_ " Daphne replied with poorly-versed humility. Granger's mouth twitched.

"See. I'm wondering just what the outcome is if a Slytherin is supposed to be in Potions, which is approximately ten staircases down, into the dungeons, but manages to travel up ten staircases, roam approximately eight hallways out of fifteen – I can only assume, since Slytherin is approximately twenty minutes into their lesson as of right now – and just so _happens_ to interrupt a perfectly legitimate Heads meeting for apparently no reason," the muggle-born folded her arms over her chest. Her confidence wasn't growing. No. There was no confidence. It was just _knowing_. Knowing that she would win this.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. " _I'm afraid I don't understand._ "

"Apologies. I'll speak plainer." Daphne's lip twitched. She was tempted to sneer. Hermione's cool gaze silently instructed her not to. "Ten staircases down. Ten staircases up. Eight hallways traveled. All while the Slytherin students are approximately twenty-" she checked her watch, " _two_ minutes into class. What does this add up to?"

" _I'm afraid you'll have to be clearer—"_

"It equals _time wasted_ , Miss Greengrass."

Daphne froze briefly. " _Are you implying that I'm skipping class, Miss Granger?_ "

"I'm not implying, I'm _aware_ that you're skipping class, Miss Greengrass. From your records – which I caught wind of in a meeting with the Headmistress – this will be your… what is it? Tenth skipped class day without a viable excuse?"

Daphne paled.

"In case you haven't been following, that equals something the Headmistress likes to call _grounds for expulsion_."

" _Well, I'm sure I—_ "

"I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted. "Did I give you the impression I was finished?" A small pause. Dead silence. "Now, this whole situation can be cleared up in a heartbeat. Malfoy can take you to class, give you a viable excuse, thus saving your hide entirely. Should you be willing to take that option, I'm going to presume that we've come to an understanding, and should anything unfavorable transpire after that, then… I'll just have to set up tea with Rita Skeeter, who's a rather good friend of mine."

" _That's ridiculous._ "

"Is it? I have a rather clear vision of a perfect headline. Stop me if it's too much, I've always been rubbish with them. _Known Sacred 28 Member Expelled From Hogwarts On Account of Tryst With_ —"

" _Stop._ " Daphne's voice was less collected. Hermione complied, and only the corner of her lip quirked. Dead silence again. Daphne raised her chin. " _It seems I'm late for class, Miss Granger._ "

"So you are," Hermione practically grit out, reaching for her bag and snapping it up from the desk. "Malfoy, would you mind escorting her?"

 **DRACO** :

That was it. He would be ruined and his family name taken. He'd be stripped from his money and his power and would become the horrid one in the group. He'd become the boy who touched dirty blood. He would become absolutely nothing and Granger would have to be the one to pick up the pieces. His entire childhood had been about keeping his bloody family together. Protecting them by taking this fucking mark on his arm and yet they'd still throw him to the dogs just for wanting someone outside of their perfect realm of suitors or matches.

As soon as Granger began talking he cringed slightly as if he expected it to somehow get worse.  
 ** _  
I'm afraid I don't understand._**

 ** _Apologies. I'll speak plainer._**

He's quite openly staring at her possibly as dumbfounded as Daphne was. He just stands there silently listening and feeling his heartbeat slow down with each one of her words. Draco had never thought she was weak or spineless in the least. He had always regarded her as strong and rigid in anything she did but. . .This? This wasn't a **_Gryffindor_** trait. His eyes switched between Daphne and Granger with each sentence flung at the other and suddenly felt as if he wasn't in the room at all and these two were just battling out by themselves.

 ** _Expelled?_** Granger had just threatened her with **_expulsion?_** He felt like he was dreaming, or maybe he had to look around for Theo, who was quite obviously playing a joke on him.

Maybe she had some Slytherin embedded in her somewhere because this was not something she usually did. This was not even in the realm of possibility in his mind of happening. So he wasn't going to be outcast. This wasn't leaving the classroom. He has to try and staunch the shit-eating grin that had spread across his lips for a moment. He had just witnessed Granger completely destroy every single little thing that Daphne clung to and she did it in the matter of thirty seconds. Was she holding back all those times they had gotten into an argument?

He barely registered she had talked to him before he nodded quickly. "Sure. Yeah." His words were rushed out and awkward. It was a strange thing suddenly feeling a bit less powerful in a room. His fingers curl around Daphne's elbow as he leads her from the room without really casting a glance back behind him. There was plenty of time to praise her when the day was done.

"I don't know what you see in that **_thing_**." Is the blonde girls hissed words as she's lead quite forcibly to Potions even if she was dragging her feet and looking at him as if her eyes could make him drop dead.

"She just destroyed your entire scheme in fewer sentences than it took for you to start blackmailing me. You have to give credit where credit is due."

 ** _He certainly would later._**


	10. THEO

**DRACO** :

He didn't want to lie to her. There were just things that he wanted to do before telling her, and speaking to Theo was absolutely one of them. If it went bad, he would try and pick up the pieces, but he didn't want Granger worrying about anything she didn't need to worry about. . Yet. He had extracted himself from their limbs being tangled apart on the couch with the excuse that he forgot he had to help with Blaise something. She either believed him or was allowing him to go off and do whatever he actually needed, because her eyes flickered with recognition before she smiled and let him leave after a chaste kiss.

He thought he might actually sweat at how nervous this was making him and he knew that it wasn't something to be so nervous about. Theo had always been supportive of his choices, even when he disagreed with them, so the problem of leaking the information wasn't too hard pressed in Draco's mind. There was always that constant worry of people knowing too early. He wanted to just graduate and move on with Granger without having to worry about any shite that stemmed from blood purity in these goddamn walls.

There couldn't be another day that he went on without talking about her with someone and narrowing down his list of friends took about two seconds to get to Theo.

Being in the dungeons again was strange as he walked down stairs and down corridors to the darker and gloomier area of the castle. The contrast was so absolutely jarring to what his new dorms were like with the airy space and open windows. As soon as he entered the Slytherin common room he felt slightly more relaxed. It was quite honestly a snake pit, but it was familiar ground all the same. "Look who's decided to ** _slum_** it with us." He heard emerge from Flint's mouth as he flipped over a page of the Daily Prophet and barely glanced up to him. The blonde smirked slightly at the recognition from a few lingering students.

"Where's Theo?" He asked with a quick narrow of his eyes to scan the commons before Flint shrugged slightly.

"I don't keep up with your pets, Malfoy."

 **THEO** :

Theodore's father had died in the war. Contrary to popular belief – and realistically, only known to Draco – Theo didn't regret losing his father for a single ventricle of a moment. He had even refused to find his father's body; he was so eager to put the past behind him. This had earned Theo a black mark on the registry when it came to pureblood associations. Not that he really cared. He had his inheritance, he had his life, and he had finally gotten rid of a diseased mentality that had been plaguing him since the beginning of his miserable existence.

His childhood attributed to his personality greatly. While Theo's home life was beyond agonizing, Theo accommodated to a great amount of humor and tomfoolery to cope with his father's temper. Sarcasm had become a very lucrative defense mechanism, and pranks were the name of his game. He never cared for politics. In fact, they bored him beyond repair. This was usually why he appeared to keep to himself most of the time, and also why Draco continuously stated that he 'could dress him up, but couldn't take him anywhere'. Theo seemed to revel in this notion, deciding plainly that he would prefer to stay at home anyway, where a bottle of firewhiskey was seemingly bottomless and pants were optional.

While the Slytherin dungeon inhabitants sulked over their losses, Theo was a light in the darkness. He found a certain amount of joy in their suffering, knowing that their pouting was over ludicrous beliefs. All of it just made him laugh.

He was on his way into the Slytherin common area when he heard Draco's voice and instantly, there was a new pep in his step… which was proverbially crushed when Flint decided to open his big mouth.

"Hey," Theo began, pointing an accusing finger in Flint's direction with a look of rather convincing offense on his face. Flint looked cordially up at him. "I'll have you know, I'm house trained." He let his finger remain pointed at Flint for an extent, as though waiting for the bloke to retort. When he didn't, Theo brandished a bright, snarky grin in Draco's direction. "Draco, good to see you."

 **DRACO** :

His voice was a breath of fresh air to say the least. Theo had always brought a certain light to the dark, gloomy dungeons in a way that nobody had the beliefs or gall to do themselves. His charisma wasn't dwarfed into fake politics like most of the Pureblooded sort anyway. It was fun and intoxicating with a sort of humor that just made you feel comforted to be in his presence.

"I've been busy with scheduling." Draco makes the excuse, immediately hating that he wasn't around as often as they used to be through the years in school. It was the work, plus his classes, plus the fact that he couldn't act normal around Granger in public, so he had to make the best of his time in the dorms. All this boiled down to the fact that his best mate saw him sparingly.

"Let's take a walk." He says quickly, glancing to Flint who seemed disinterested to say the least. Practically pushing the other boy back up the steps, he cleared his throat when they emerged from the dorm and clasped his hands tightly behind his back. It was always interesting to him how their steps fell into line with one another. There was a way that Theo always carried himself in situations he didn't understand, though. It was a skill that Draco also harnessed although absolutely different. Draco had the ability to charm a room with a simple few sentences and that sort of smile that it seemed all Pureblooded boys were taught at a young age. Theo didn't charm anyone at all, but he had a way of drawing the attention and interest of every man and woman around him to the point where they couldn't help but be fascinated of his presence. It had always caused jealousy to rise in the blonde's chest in their earlier years of friendship.

"I wanted to tell you something." He says finally as they're just emerging from the dungeons and down dimly lit corridors that flicker in shadows from the torches hanging on the walls. How fitting of a setting.

"It's about _**Granger.**_ "

 **THEO** :

Theo had made a noise in the back of his throat; an exaggerated half-growl, half-complaint of 'gahhh' as his neck was grabbed and he was pushed away from the Slytherin dorms and into a more private setting. Unlike Draco, who always had a certain air of prowess, Theo was clumsy and often tripped over himself. Yet another reason he was unfit for pureblood get-togethers. At Pansy's last birthday party, she had scolded him for accidentally knocking over a swan sculpture in front of all the attendants. Just before he was escorted from the premises, however, he had managed to sneak off with some stolen Parkinson stationary. Since then, he was content with getting his revenge by sending Pansy letters… from herself… from the future.

Upon reaching a more secluded area, Theo was released and looked wildly around the premises. It might have seemed exaggerated, but he was genuinely ensuring that no eyewitnesses were in the immediate area. He was just much less sleuth about it than Draco was. He wound up doing a full 180-degree turn before Draco began to speak and his attention was on his best friend again.

There was a small pause as Theo adopted a befuddled expression, appearing as though he were trying to remember just _who_ Granger was. Of course, Draco knew that wasn't the case. One of Theo's most admirable traits was that his brain raced a mile a minute, which meant he came to conclusions much quicker than most. Where Draco went through deductive reasoning, Theo knew – mostly through instinct – what the real situation was. The difference between them: Draco could explain his thought process, where Theo had difficulty remembering what set it off in the first place.

"Why? Because you're shaggin' 'er?" Theo asked, unblinking. He knew. _Of course_ he already knew. He paused for a moment, shrugging. "What's the big deal?" And of course, classic Theo, his subject almost immediately went off course. "You know; I was thinking of casting a jamming charm on Flint's drawers. So they only come out two inches. That way, he can see everything, but he can't get at it…"

Theo made a miming motion of attempting to open a jammed drawer for emphasis.

 **DRACO** :

He sighed slightly and rubbed his temple when the boy began twisting around very obviously. Safe to say that if someone had been listening in they would be absolutely tipped off by the boys clumsy glancing around as if they were doing a drug deal. It was charming in a. . .Strange way.

His mind was thumping with a sort of worry and fear wondering exactly how Theo would take the information and what would happen afterward. Would he get more serious and really stare him down? Maybe there would be a bit of an awkward pause as he tried to soak in the information. It wouldn't effect their friendship. . Would it? His head was beginning to hurt as all the situations flicked through his mind.

Draco blanks for a good ten seconds.

That jamming idea was absolutely brilliant and he would get back on that in a second, but for now he just sort of put up a finger as if to pause his friends speech and really soak in this information. "Wait. **_Wait_**..." A hand runs through his hair as if figuring this out was some sort of complicated math equation that needed complete and utter concentration.

"Who told you that I was shagging Granger?"

 ** _What's the big deal?_**

Draco hadn't realized how much of a relief it would be to actually be completely accepted by someone as Theo always had. To be able to talk to someone about Granger and for them to understand. Fuck. He needed this more than he thought. "How did you know?"

 **THEO** :

He was thrown off of his usual, wayward train of thought when Draco stopped him. Upon being asked who told him, Theo made an offended expression almost instantly, clasping a hand over his chest. Nott had almost staggered back, deeply insulted by the insinuation of gossip. Theo never partook in gossip, normally because he just didn't have the attention span, nor the patience for it. Whenever Pansy came around with her usual droll, Theo habitually tuned her out and would often wind up interrupting her when some other topic sprung to mind. She would curse him and leave… and he would begin preparing another letter.

This had been going on since the beginning of the new school year. She still had yet to catch on.

"Wh—" Theo sputtered, then his expression adopted that of exaggerated anger. He pointed directly at Draco for effect. "Alright, I've decided I'm _definitely_ mad at you for ditching me this year. Uh-huh. Oh yeah." He nodded forebodingly, and perhaps Draco could see the gears in his mind, churning up a rather horrid prank. However, this time, he kept on topic, much to his own surprise. "In case you've forgotten, I've got a pretty perceptive eye. And I'm smart…" he paused, then corrected himself, "most of the time."

There was a lingering pause as Theo's expression relaxed and he motioned to his best friend with both hands for emphasis.

"You're taking on a dorm with a pretty girl and _no_ adult supervision. Which, by the by, is completely irresponsible – and that's coming from _me_ , so I'll give you a second to let that sink in." He took a deep breath and dropped his hands to his sides, deciding to only motion with one hand now. His spiked hair bobbed slightly. "Also, you're... _you_. Do the math, mate, it wasn't a hard deduction."

 **DRACO** :

He cringed as he was called out for ditching him and seemed to think of retorting for a moment before just letting it go. Draco didn't want his hair charmed pink for three days, like when Theo got pissed at him in fourth year. Draco scoffed loudly at the insinuation that taking on a dorm with a pretty girl would just naturally lead to sex which. . .Yes. Alright that was a fair assumption, but he still felt he had the right to be offended.

"We are adults. We don't need supervision. I'll have you know that it's not just shagging. Most of the time. I mean we have been doing a lot of shagging. And it's really good shagging, with multip-. . .I'm getting off topic now. . .You've known this whole time and you haven't said one thing to me."

Draco hadn't even realized the playful grin that had stretched over his lips. Theo had always just had a way of bringing out the less 'broody mcbrooderson' side of him, as Theo so nicely put it.

"You know how Mother and Father are. If they knew. . .Well you know what would happen to me. I've decided that I just need to wait until they're dead and I can tell the tombstones about her." Of course that was a totally illogical thing that wasn't very likely at all given the average age of Wizards and Witches and how damn long his parents would last just to spite him. "I also REJECT the thought that I would sleep with any pretty girl I had to dorm with. "

 **THEO** :

 _We are adults_.

That statement alone made Theo roll his eyes dramatically in response. They were all around the age of eighteen, they just _felt_ like adults because they were forced to grow up and face a battle that could have potentially demolished their entire way of life. Of course, there was no explaining this to Draco. Not since the epic disagreement of last Christmas, where both of them bickered on the topic of adulthood in the garden outside of the Manor, having attempted to get away from the horrid noise Bellatrix was causing within the melancholy walls.

Of course, this expression had almost instantly merged into a big, dumb grin as Draco himself began venturing off-topic. By the time he caught himself, Theo was chuckling low, nodding along, and simply encouraging the blonde to realize the state of his own maturity through his words. Digging a grave without Theo ever having to put in the effort. This was a treasure, indeed.

As the conversation melded into a more serious tone, Theo's smile faded, though he still maintained a natural air of quirkiness, as usual. Even during topics of life and death, there was something… surreal about his presence. Theo had a natural aura of wit and humor that he couldn't seem to get rid of, even if he tried.

"Well… that's _stupid_ ," he quipped at the mention of keeping Granger hidden until the death of his parents. "Evil never dies, you'll be waiting forever, and who has the patience for that?"

This was where the sarcasm came in to play.

"I think the word you're looking for is _RESEMBLE_. You _RESEMBLE_ the thought. Word choice, Draco, _word choice_." Nott shifted in his stance a little. "Look, I never said anything because I figured it best to let you come to me on your own. If it was a serious thing, you'd find me. If not, you'd go through whatever motions and deal with it yourself. But since you found me…" his eyebrows wiggled for effect, "I'm assuming it's serious?"

 **DRACO** :

Theo had always been the one to call out the things that Draco had always just assumed were pureblooded needs. Acting happy when you weren't. Doing things to appease your parents. Becoming a Death Eater. There were just things that Theo hadn't agreed with and made them quite clear, when his best mate was actually willing to listen which was quite rare.

The stupidity of keeping Granger hidden wasn't lost on him of course but what else would he do? He had never been very open about intimacy or relationships anyway, so what was the big deal if they just never told anyone and lived happily together in a bubble? The war had forced shite to happen too quickly most times anyway so wasn't it a right for the both of them to just live in peace?

Serious. Hm. There were a lot of ways that could be interpreted and as the blonde thought of Granger with her hair draping down her back humming to a song in her head and moving her hips slightly while she finished breakfast, his heart thumped.

"Yes. It's pretty serious." A hard punch is landed on Theo's shoulder for the eyebrow wiggling, though. "We didn't plan it. It sort of just happened and when she went back for the holidays she broke it off with Weasley. As soon as she got back, we sort of. . Well you know." His arms crossed over his chest now at the thought of her first day back and quickly abandoned it because he could feel his skin begin to heat.

"I haven't really asked her what she wants to do in terms of secrecy. I assume it's a weird conversation, yeah? Like 'Oi do you want to fuck me in secret forever and never be acknowledged by any of my peers nor family?'. I'm just not sure how to approach that."

 **THEO** :

There was another strangled, choked growl of 'gahh' as he was punched in the arm, which swiftly merged into an elongated 'owwww' as he rubbed the stricken area. Theo looked at Draco with the expression of a man whose pride was severely damaged by the incessant pummeling. He was always so _violent_!

Not like Theo was any different, which was proven when Draco had finished his little rant and Theo had – without hesitation – replied with a single, solid smack upside the blonde's head. For a moment, Theo's arms waved around in silent fury, as though actively trying to make his best friend see the bigger picture standing right in front of him.

"Wh—how—are you _kidding_ me right now?!" Nott continued his awkward flailing through his stuttered speech, still at a conclusion that Draco had yet to catch up on. "Look, mate, I might not know Granger at all, but I can tell you from my own – albeit _failed_ experiences with women – that whatever she's doing, she's doing on _your_ behalf. As Slytherin as I am, I can tell you now, tossing that idea in her direction will be both insulting, and will likely cost you at _least_ three months of shagging, if not more. We've both seen enough of her personality growing up to know that she's not the type to keep up with a secret like this without it completely eating her alive. She's not the type to accept being buried like some shameful secret. She's Potter's bloody best friend _and_ a Gryffindor, sort yourself out."

Now mid-rant, Theo took a moment to steal in a breath, his chest heaving as though he had run a mile. He always did have a knack for making himself breathless when he went on tangents like this. By now, he was shaking his head at Draco. In moments like this, Theo always did shimmer with a hateful sort of logic.

"I understand everything going on with your mum and dad, and I've got news for you, mate, your mum – pureblood beliefs aside – would never abandon you to the dogs. That's fact number one, right there. She could rant, rave, and scream at you until the cows came home, but there's a reason she did everything she did in the war. There's a reason Potter vouched for her. What she did, she did for you. I doubt she'll throw that away on account of this thing you got with Granger." He threw up his hands just then, mocking surrender. "Now your dad, he's a different story. He's going to be the _real problem_ here. Speaking on a more shallow note, though, did you ever think that this might actually be _good_ to go public with? A war hero and a former Death Eater? McGonagall's been shoving unity down our throats all year. The Ministry's been looking for something like this to placate the masses and pacify muggle-born _bloody_ insurrection. I'm not saying this should be the _reason_ you go through with anything when it comes to Granger – because it _shouldn't be_ with something this serious – but I _am_ saying it's an idea that you can _sell_ to your parents soften the blow, if-or-when you tell them – and it _should_ come from you."

Silence hit them like an anvil.

"Besides, you can't keep this a secret, mate. You might as well be prepared for the fallout. _Backup plans for your backup plans_. That's what you told _me_ once, remember?"

 **DRACO** :

The heavy thwack of his hand hitting him made Draco flinch and rub the back of his head with a slight groan but deciding not to retaliate given that he could hear the beginning of a long rant coming from his friend. That was the one thing that was agitating as it was helpful with Theo. He went on tangents that seemed to tear into you and last for hours at a time even if it had only been a few minutes.

He knew somewhere in his chest that she would have been insulted if he ever said anything along those lines. Who wouldn't be? Nobody wanted to be a secret or something hidden away in a closet and only taken out during the times they were used. She wasn't a broom, after all. He couldn't even imagine looking her in the eyes and telling her that he never wanted to tell anyone about them.

The speech about his parents made him tense slightly and he twitched at the notion. No. His Mother would never abandon him long term, but she would also never bloody well accept any relationship with a Muggleborn, let alone Hermione Granger.

Lucius would seethe and scream and shout and demand that Draco be removed from inheritance and although most Pureblooded wives were weak and submissive, he knew damn well that his Mother was unflinching. He'd seen it plenty of times with his Father's quick temper and how she refused to bow to it.

Eyebrows furrow at the thought of using the relationship as a. . Unity celebration? He detested the thought that they were shoved together for some bigger agenda but then again Theo wasn't wrong. It would calm down what had started as whispers and were beginning to become a movement. Muggleborns and their disgust with modern Wizarding society and some even spoke of there being an overthrow of power. Draco had ignored it with a complete blind eye. If there was some other sort of war or the like, he would prefer to just die than to have any part in it.

"Yes. I remember. I know you're right, I just want to go on pretending that my way of thinking is logical for a little while longer. Thanks."

He waits a few long moments before speaking again. "Alright. I'm done. You're right. I should tell my parents, and then Granger can deal with her friends and then. . Then if it gets out to the world we'll deal with what happens, I suppose."

 **THEO** :

Nott had always been – perhaps – the most personable among their year, when it came to Slytherins. Still, he never quite lost his sneaky streaks. Where the others busied themselves with political competition and ruining reputation, Theo didn't ever have a reputation that could get ruined in the first place, which meant that he had the option to be brutally honest, make his dormmates' lives a living hell with countless pranks, and more importantly, he was able to speak from the heart when necessary.

"Don't think I'm undermining the situation you're in, Draco," Theo warned, wagging a friendly finger in the blonde's face. "I'm not blind. There's no part of this that's going to be easy, but of course, you know that. There's nothing wrong with wanting something for yourself, and wanting it to stay as it is, but that all reaches a point where it's not about _just you_ anymore."

His hands slapped against his sides, eventually sliding into his pockets to show that his rant was calming down and that he was reaching a very calm, honest note of this conversation. He nodded along as Draco spoke, glancing briefly down at his feet with a loud, somewhat frustrated sigh, before casting his gaze back up to his best friend again.

"I get that. I do. I've told you this before, I don't make the decisions, I just give you the options. You decide where to go from there. However, I _will_ say one last thing on the matter." His hand sliced through the air briefly, smoothly. His wild gestures gone. "You need to decide if this is something worth fighting for. If it is, then great. If not, then, well…" he shrugged helplessly, "secrets don't make good foundations for these types of relationships."

Theo sighed loudly just then, removing his hand from his pocket and extending his arms out humbly, as if presenting himself. "That's it. That's all I got."

He let the silence fall between them for a moment before clapping his hands together and rubbing them in a lucrative manner.

"Now, can we talk about _me_ for once?"

 **DRACO** :

 ** _There's nothing wrong with wanting something for yourself._**

Draco had never truly wanted anything for himself since he was young. There was no room for thinking of his own wants when trying to keep his family alive and well. His own wants were drowned out in the sea of pale faces and torture not quite sure when humanity would eventually return and stay. The fact that it wasn't just about him anymore? That is what struck him the most. Theo was right, as he often was. Granger was half of whatever relationship they had going. She had half the say in what happened to it.

Was it worth fighting for? Was the way she smiled at him in the mornings and pressed kisses along his jawline worth it? Or how her teeth clenched and jaw set when she was about to tear into him in a rant about something he's said. Or how she looked in the light of the moon through windows, laid out on the couch so invested in Hamlet that she hadn't bothered to even look up to greet him. "It's worth it." He says after a moment of silence.

Smirking when Theo had finished his tirade and said he was done, Draco finds himself leaning against the wall and nodding to his friend. "I mean if we **_have_** to." He teases before gesturing forward as if Theo had the floor to speak.

 **THEO** :

 _It's worth it_.

Theo couldn't help but grin at this notion. Cocky, snarky, but a grin nonetheless. He always did get a sliver of pride whenever he saw something genuine come from his best friend. Draco was often set in his pureblood ways, aristocratic airs and all. It was rare when Theo managed to yank a genuine response from the lad, so this conversation was certainly a treat.

"Well, shite," Theo began, reaching out to clap a friendly hand on Draco's shoulder, "you're in trouble, then."

The jest was innocent enough, even if they both knew the truth. However, as the topic progressed, Nott's eyes seemed to light up with an impervious excitement.

"Fantastic, because I've got a lot to tell you. First of all, I've been sending Pansy letters from her future self, which is just fantastic. Uh, I made Flint smack himself in the head with a book, which actually took a while. I paid everyone five galleons a piece to call Blaise 'Blane' all day, and it was totally worth it. I put a bloody glove in Goyle's satchel and tried to convince him he'd committed murder… that one was a bust…"

And so they carried on.


	11. OUT

**HERMIONE** :

Honesty was a fickle thing. In a relationship, it had a profound ability to make or break a couple. So, when Draco had returned to their Heads dorm one night and confessed speaking to none other than Theodore Nott about their relationship, Hermione had almost instantly become a little apprehensive. It worked out for the better, much to her surprise. Draco practically insisted that she meet him, to which, she inevitably conceited, after some rather tantalizing convincing on Malfoy's part. After officially introducing herself, Hermione never realized how much she needed something like this – this _validation_.

Theo was a diamond in the rough, and quickly became integrated to an inner circle Hermione had no idea existed. He added a comical flourish that she could appreciate, and never once thought she would find in the likes of a Slytherin. In one fell swoop, Theo had shattered the standards that Hermione held practically all Slytherins to. She was pleasantly surprised by his good-natured pranks, and was particularly giddy over the ones he continued to pull on Pansy, even offering a few ideas of her own. On this account, Theo pestered Draco with a sly grin, stating that perhaps they were having more of an effect on her by the day, and 'she'll be one of us soon'.

Now, they had abandoned the likes of any crowd, and were thankfully walking in a stagnant sort of peace along the hallways of Hogwarts. Patrols, classes, Heads dorm, it never really mattered what their location was. As long as they were in the same proximity, the tension was just as palpable as it was the very day they had met, but in a _very_ different way.

They were bickering about _something_. Hermione had just brazenly managed to forget _what_ they were bickering about. This was mostly on account of the heat rising to her cheeks with the few subtle, sleuth, and intimate touches Malfoy had been initiating since they began their rounds. Normally, these gestures were a bit more lax, having gotten their fill earlier, but tonight was particularly tense. They had forgotten that they were even on the schedule to begin with, and had been in the beginning stages of a beautiful _something_ when Hermione's eyes shot open and she remembered what they were supposed to be doing.

Now, just walking next to him was a viable amount of torture. She could hardly think straight, always finding herself gradually drifting closer to him when those little touches were initiated.

"Stop that!" She hissed, slapping at his hand when it brushed hers again. She tried to stop the blush that hit her cheeks, along with the smile playing on her lips. It was difficult to tell him 'no' when there was already a fire raging in her gut. "We're on the main floor." A simple reminder that this was a higher-traffic area of the school.

 **DRACO** :

He hadn't realized quite how happy it would make him to know his best friend liked Granger. It was like everything he had ever thought about Granger was confirmed by Theo and in a way it made him feel better about the relationship, and actually being able to be open and touchy in front of one person, if not everyone. Theo was one of the most important people that he had wanted to have aware, anyway.

Walking the halls with her usually had him in some state of control given that it was a bit riskier. Students were always fluttering through the dark halls even when they were told not to and so they had just taken the initiative not to be intimate in any high traffic halls. Naturally, this would have been followed closely to if she hadn't interrupted what they had been doing before she remembered the schedule and forced him to change and do rounds.

It was torture to just stop touching her and return to acting as if he didn't want to at every second of every day. It was the fourth time that his fingers brushed be her own when she slapped his hand away and he couldn't help but smirk at the way her cheeks flushed. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

"Yes. That is **_correct_**. The main floor which has many classrooms that aren't being used at night like. . Ah. This one."

And before she can speak he's gripping her elbow and tugging her into one of the many abandoned classrooms. It was night. Who would catch them? Who would truly care? One hand is already curled in her hair and the other grips her hip just as their lips crash together. He can't go without this for long. Not without touching her in at least some way, if not for shagging. Although he did prefer shagging.

His arms easily lift her up to sit her on the desk and drag his lips down the hollow of her throat where her pulse point throbs and he knows she likes when he pays attention to it.

 **HERMIONE** :

Malfoy was, indeed, a weakness. Hermione had suffered this revelation several times, normally when he managed to distract her from her studies, which was nigh impossible. He seemed to lose himself the most during the times he supposedly _couldn't_ touch her, or when she appeared to be in her busiest state. She never quite understood why, yet rarely voiced a complaint over it… especially when his mouth managed to clasp over _that spot_.

By now, any and all thoughts of slipping through this patrol unscathed to finish what they had started in the dorms were swirling the drain in the back of her mind. Truth be told, she knew she was damned the moment their lips met and the classroom door was closed with a controlled _click_ behind them. The moment she was lifted onto the desk, she was grasping pathetically and desperately at the collar of his robes with one hand, simultaneously slipping her other into his hair and admiring the softness that spilled through her fingers.

She let out a gentle squeak when the most pleasant spot on her neck began getting all the attention, half-grinning as she leaned her head back in encouragement. As her knees cradled his hips, they tightened like a vice, mutely encouraging the actions she knew she ought to stop. They were, after all, Heads. They _still_ had jobs to do.

Hermione could have sworn she opened her mouth to protest at least once, but it appeared as though she had no _voice_ when she was in this position… or any position. What came out was a mere succession of whimpers and whiny moans. Every perfectly-placed kiss on her neck made the fire roar in her gut.

She couldn't hear anything outside of this world. Perhaps she should have, because the door had been pushed open. There was a flurry of racing steps. Before Hermione even had a chance to react, Malfoy was jerked off of her by the collar. She saw a flash of red hair and freckles before the blonde was catapulted to the floor by a single fist.

"RON?!"

 **DRACO** :

When she was completely available for kissing and his touches he of course complied but there was a certain rush for him when she wasn't. When she was busy studying for tests or when they were supposed to be doing something Head related and all he could think about doing was pushing all the parchment off the table and laying her out on it. Even in the Great Hall he had trouble focusing on only his friends and the Slytherin table because it felt as if her presence was so drawing he couldn't shake himself of it.

Her skin tastes sweet and earthy and those damned fingers curled in his hair like magic when he hit just the right spot. They were often a tangle of limbs and passion and need. He wouldn't have it any other way, honestly.

The door opened and then there was nothing but pain and redness. His face hit the floor exactly where the punch had been and it was as if someone had taken a shovel and whacked him across the face with it. Ron? _Ron_.

 ** _Weasley?_**

Oh.

There's a single push so he's standing again even with his throbbing jaw and Draco ** _knows_** this. He **_knows_** anger and rage and sheer urge to hurt or maim and in a second he's throwing a punch right back at the moronic ginger's throat without any care for anything else. He'd been waiting _years_ after all.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione's hands immediately flew to her mouth from the initiation of the battle, frozen in place. It wasn't until Malfoy had leapt to his feet and charged with a fist of his own where she had jumped off the desk and attempted to grasp at least one of them. In this case, she went for Ronald. Malfoy might have been positively furious, but at the very least, he would register that she was there, and wouldn't charge as long as she was in the way.

When Ron had fits like this, he was blind to all reason. His rage became red as his hair and cheeks and all he wanted to see from the other end was blood. Hermione knew he needed to be stopped first, and so she took to action, crying out multiple times for both of them to cease and desist. Nothing seemed to be working.

After half-a-year's worth of tears and heartbreak, Malfoy had snapped. After whatever Ron was going through during their months apart – and after their horrid breakup – it seemed this made him snap as well.

"Ron, please! Please, stop!" She shouted, finally finding the courage to dive into the fray herself. Sacrifice was, after all, the Gryffindor way.

Hermione struggled, but managed to get a hold of Ron's arm. She was satisfied with the accomplishment for all of a few seconds, but instantly regretted it when a punch that was meant for Malfoy was instinctively thrust backward as he whipped to face her.

It was an accident, of course, but that didn't stop the smarting in her jaw. She felt as though someone had struck her across the face with a brick. Her cheek and mouth were almost trying to go numb, just to soften the trauma. The world spun a little and she steadied herself on the desk she had once been sitting on.

There was a pause in scuffling, though, which had been reassuring at first, but Hermione could feel the fear creeping back up her spine. The shock of something like this could only mean one thing…

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" she managed, weakly at first. She was trying to gain her bearings again so she could stop this before it turned deadly.

She tasted blood and hid it behind her hand from Malfoy. As if the strike wasn't bad enough, Hermione was frozen in fear by now, knowing – just _knowing_ – that after this, nothing was going to end well.

 **DRACO** :

He had to listen to for months to this girl cry alone in her room or mope around the dorms because Weasley hadn't sent her a proper message in months. Of course, he hadn't liked her then, but he still detested Weasley and used any excuse to be mad at the ginger-haired prick. For months she pined over him and for the months following he had to pick up the pieces of their shit breakup. **_He_** had been dealing with it. Not Weasley. Not Potter. Him.

He barely registered Hermione was there, but he'd stop if she got in the way of course. He was angry but he wasn't stupid. Fists continued to fly and Draco could taste blood flooding his mouth and knew something had to be broken by now. The crack of knuckles against flesh was something he had needed since he got back to school. He needed to fight and not care if the person lived or died.

The sound of the impact is what stopped him first. There was blood dripping down his chin but he stopped moving and so did Weasley so they could stare at Granger. Before her hand covered her face he saw the blood forming at her lip and then her words came spilling out.

 _I'm fine.  
_  
He thought of her laying on the ground at Malfoy Manor and being **_powerless_** to do something about it.  
 ** _  
He wasn't powerless anymore._**

There's something that takes over his entire body and catapults him to Weasley who he knocks down and pins to the stone floor with his knees on either side of the redhead's torso. Hit after hit after hit rained down on the redhead's face to the point of where Draco didn't know if it was his knuckles breaking or the other boy's face that was making all the disgusting crunching noises.

Blood was rampant, but he just kept going and going and going not caring where he was trying to get or who it was at that point anymore. He barely knew where he was. All the anger and sadness and repressed emotions over the war he never spoke about had come to the service and spilled out as soon as he saw that speck of blood on her lip and quite honestly he was going to ** _kill_** Weasley. He wanted to see brain matter by the time he was done.

He could rot away in Azkaban for all he cared. It would be worth it.

 **HERMIONE** :

Of course, that was the end of it. Rage boiled over until fury and bliss became one and all that was left was an innate, animalistic longing for bloodshed. This was how wars started. It was also how they were won. Still, Hermione couldn't let her protests end here. She had taken worse beatings in worse places and seeing Ron and Draco tear one another to shreds was _not_ going to happen on her watch.

She couldn't even hear herself begging anymore. Granger had skidded across the classroom when Malfoy managed to subdue Ron, desperately grasping at his shoulders and trying with all her strength to pull him back. Nothing was working. The boy was blinded by hatred and PTSD. There was no amount of pushing or pulling that could possibly satiate this hunger long enough for him to back off and get a solid grip on his mind again.

So, Hermione did the first thing she thought of. She leapt for him, wrapped her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his neck, more than willing to take on whatever flying fists he could conjure. If he needed someone to strike for a while, she could be a shield. She had done it before. She would do it again.

Her tears were expected at this point. Blood leaked from the cut on her lip and salt water rained into his shirt from her eyes. Broken pleas ghosted over his pale skin as she begged for stillness and peace.

The war was over. This needed to be over too.

 **DRACO** :

Each hit of his fist against the other boys face was like something he couldn't say when he wanted to. Something he repressed and never spoke aloud during the war.  
 **  
THWACK**

 _I don't want to be a Death Eater._

 **THWACK.**  
 _  
I don't want to kill people._  
 **  
THWACK.  
**  
 _I can't stop crying at night. I want to go home._

 **THWACK.**  
 _  
Help me. Fucking help me._

His fists are coated in red blood and her touch to his shoulders to try and pull him away does nothing. He barely even notices the insistent pulling of her at all. It isn't until her arms wrap around his torso that some humanity comes back to him at all. She's gripping him and his fist is raised to strike again, but if he does he'll hit her. He'll hurt her. He's never wanted to hurt her.

His chest is heaving with heavy pants and sweat collects at his brow, but she's sobbing into his chest and her fingers grip him like talons in his heart just begging him to stay still. To remain still. He falls back to sit and remove himself from Weasley, arm curling around her shoulders and holding her tightly against his chest while his vision begins to clear slightly and see the true havoc he caused across Weasley's face. The boy was still responsive and moving but didn't even bother due to the pain.

"I'll fucking **_blind_** you if you touch her again." Is the first words that choke out of his mouth as he stares at Weasley not caring if the boy really hears him or not. It's not about Weasley. It's about him.

 **HERMIONE** :

 _It wasn't his fault._

 _It wasn't anybody's fault._

 _He didn't mean to_.

Perhaps these were all things she should have said. Maybe she _did_ say them. Briefly. Buried mouth in his chest, the words were probably loose and without meaning. She stumbled with him when he shrank back from the mess he had made, still clinging to him with a newfound need that she never understood until now. The war was declared finished half a year before this moment, but everything felt like _yesterday_. It wasn't over for _them_ ; it was just over for those looking through the glass.

They would need to move soon. Ron was moving and conscious, but there was no doubt in her mind that she needed to get him to the hospital wing. Still, whatever urge Hermione had to help her best friend was momentarily subdued by her need to hold Malfoy in her arms. His wounds, like her own, ran far deeper than surface cuts or scrapes. Ron's were different – they were _scars_. Draco's were still open and oozing, even though the war may have been a world away.

It had taken her a moment to gather herself. She left some blood on him without realizing when she had pulled away. Hermione's palm pressed very lightly to his jaw, being careful not to tease the bruises that seemed to decorate him everywhere. To seal the moment in understanding, her lips descended to his own in a gentle, chaste kiss. She winced from the sting in her lip, but the action was enough to soothe her a bit. Like him, she was just as much a ruin.

She whispered to him when she generated space between their mouths again.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Hermione said, her voice a quivering whisper. Shaken to the foundations. "We have to. Please."

 **DRACO** :

When the war ended Weasley and Potter and even Granger were the heroes. They were the names that everyone shouted in triumph and victory and swore loyalty to those names as if they were godly and the people were just waiting to be swept up in the presence of them. They came away from the war with trauma but always support for it. Everyone telling them they were loved and appreciated and hailed above all the others.

When the war ended, he was put on death row. These people would never understand that being a Death Eater was punishment enough for his crimes. The torture and abuse and the things he was forced to do was far more than any teenager should ever be under. He had been punished by being forced to live. Potter had saved his family but that wasn't the point.

The point was that they were seen as animals and disgusting because of things they had no control over. He never liked Muggleborns but killing them? When he truly saw what that meant and how it was done he wanted no part in it at all. The others were heroes and they were just the fallen enemies who could never be light again. None of them understood him.

She brings him out of his thoughts with her touch to his jaw and her lips and although it hurts he still kisses her back and the blood on her lip means nothing to him now. Once upon a time he would have flinched away from it. The mention of bringing him to the hospital wing has Draco tensed but she pleads and he's never been good at denying her anything.

Leaning down he grips Weasley's arm and hoists him up with a grunt. "Walk. Fucking prick." His voice is a bit strained due to the blood in his mouth but Weasley seems to get the memo and begins to limp out of the room with the support of Draco's shoulders.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione had known that when the truth surfaced, something like this was bound to happen. All this time spent with pent-up aggression had to take its toll, and Ron and Malfoy were the worst when it came to suppressing their tempers at all. A part of her knew – and dreaded – what was going to happen next. McGonagall would get involved; Madame Pomfrey, Harry… _oh Merlin_ , Harry. Hermione's owl to him would be inevitable at this point. The rest of the Weasleys would hate her for allowing this to happen. Hermione's stomach was sinking with each shuddering step she took.

At first, she had instinctively attempted to go to Ron's free side to help, but the look he gave her stopped her in her tracks. Seething hatred. Her heart nearly burst in sorrow, but she stepped away and instead, turned to the door of the classroom, which was wide open. Hermione remained there until both boys were through, then shut the door behind her. She adjusted her robes a little before she continued on the journey to the hospital wing with the two.

None of them said a single word and it was almost stifling.

Once they reached the infirmary, Hermione had pushed the door open for Malfoy to worm Ron through. He was still limping, but he seemed a little less dazed now. Still with a scowl on his face that settled on her whenever she managed to get within eyesight. Hermione pretended not to notice for the time being. Instead, she went to alert Madame Pomfrey.

The resident medi-witch eventually emerged with a large robe over her nightgown, looking rather furious that she had been woken up so late at night.

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" She hissed at the trio, who looked far worse for wear than she imagined. Pomfrey put the equation together and tutted briskly at them. " _Fighting in school_ ," the medi-witch said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Honestly, hasn't this school seen enough destruction?"

Pomfrey began tending to Ron first. Hermione opted to tend to Malfoy, since his injuries weren't half as bad, and Ron wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. Granger was tender with him as she dabbed away some of the blood around his face.

"I told you that was a bad area to snog in," she said. Hermione meant for it to be a bit of a joke, even though the humor was incredibly weak. She just wanted some part of this to feel less like the end of the world.

 **DRACO** :

He hadn't said a single word on the way to the Hospital Wing because quite honestly if any words were exchanged he might just drop Weasley and actually finish killing him which would seriously injure Draco since he was also pretty badly banged up. The silence was deafening and thick and he hadn't felt so utterly seething in his life. What a way to tell her friends. Fantastic. It was only a matter of time until it got out to the public, if Weasley knew.

He'd have to owl his parents tomorrow. That was going to be fun.

The scolding from Madam Pomfrey did little to nothing to quench his anger and righteousness in beating Weasley senseless. Someone had to do it. The redhead had gone too long, riding his best friends coat tails to victory and fucking everything up along the way. He needed some sense knocked into that fat empty head of his and Draco had always been an eager and frequent volunteer.

Granger stood in front of him to tend to the injuries he substantiated, although nowhere near the level of horror he had inflicted upon Ron. He flinches slightly when she presses to a part of his jaw that is a bit indented and he assumes it's because it's fractured.

" ** _Hilarious_**." His voice drawls although there is a sick dry humor there as if they were both forcing themselves to feel better about the situation.

"I didn't know that your ex moron would come showing up at a school he doesn't even **_attend_** anymore, smelling like he just walked out of a brewery." His features hardened in a scowl until the throbbing of that scowl broke out over his face and he relaxed his features again. A part of him was thumping with smug pride that Granger was the one tending to him. She was the one so close and cleaning his face of the blood.

"Kiss me." He grunts because him moving his neck forward to capture her lips is going to sting and he wants to save the reality of having to fight through pain for when he's actually kissing her.

 **HERMIONE** :

Everything was _out_. Like hanging dirty laundry. Hermione's hands were shaking a little and she didn't know how to feel about it. She was shocked enough that the events of the night even unfolded the way they did. In the distance, she could hear Pomfrey reprimanding Ronald for snapping onto the premises drunk the way he did. By Hermione's notion, he might have apparated into Hogsmeade and taken one of the secret passageways into Hogwarts just to have… whatever confrontation he wanted to have with her. When it came to Ron's life choices, they were questionable at best, even when he wasn't completely plastered.

"I didn't know either," Hermione replied, though her tone was hardly defensive. Simple statement of fact. Neither of them had anticipated something like _this_ unfolding. She let the silence fall between them, sensing his scowl as it melted away.

She succumbed weakly as he demanded a kiss, but she was gentle with him, and kept it short, chaste, and sweet. Helpless to stop the tender blush that reached her cheeks, almost making her skin match the blood on her lip, Hermione allowed some distance between them and forced herself to continue her work. The sooner he was healed, the sooner they could deal with the true issues at hand. Information would leak, both of them would be forced to face the music, and everything would be bared. Out in the open.

Hermione didn't even know how she was going to explain all of this to Ron _or_ Harry. She didn't know how she was going to explain this to her parents – who had been kept in the dark on _most_ things. It was difficult to miss her being tortured when it was the talk of the wizarding world for a time.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione murmured softly. Her tone sounded worried. She tried chewing on her lip, but winced as she remembered the cut on it. She kept her eyes averted from Malfoy while she occupied herself with her work, even being kind enough to wait until he was finished speaking before she murmured _episky_ and waved her wand at his jaw to reset the bones.

 **DRACO** :

The kiss is chaste and gentle and he hadn't wanted it any deeper than that. Just something to remind him why he actually cared about any of this situation in the first place. He'd be dealing with his family and also the backlash of the Pureblooded community along with the reporters and the cameras when they went on break or finally graduated. This was just the very beginning of a long trail of agitation and anger on his part.

He waits until after the sharp searing pain of her wand repairing his jaw for him to take the warm wet cloth from her hands and began to gently dab at her lip, considering that to be more important. What would they do? Well he'd be a bit more civil to Potter than he had to Weasley that was for sure but the rest of it? He had no idea.

" _Calm down._ " His words are firm and precise as if he wouldn't allow the mention of her freaking out or being scared. He'd deal with the fear for the both of them on his shoulders. Watching her stand in front of him with shaky hands and wide eyes just pained his chest. "I'd owl Potter tonight, so it gets to him by the morning. Weasley is going to be so out of it that he'll probably sleep through the morning and into the afternoon and you talking to Potter first is. . .Preferable." The redhead would run to his best friend and spout his mouth in ways that Malfoy didn't even want to think about understanding. ". . .I'll owl my parents in the morning. Times run out. Our little bubble seems to have been popped by an obnoxious ginger." It was only a matter of time after all. A secret never stays one for long.

 **HERMIONE** :

Gradually, Hermione felt herself slipping into a calmer state. Even though _he_ needed to be tended to far more than she, the gentle motions were soothing. She had seen him in most intimate lights, but not like this. Not so tentative or ginger as this. His moments of gentility spurred when they lazed on the couch reading, or in post-coital bliss, where she was lulling into slumber and he was still wide awake. Not like this, where he seemed more concerned for her than himself.

She nodded along with his words, knowing that he was right. Now was as good a time as any to get the secret out themselves and deal with whatever consequences that sprung up from it. Naturally, they had spoken about this a few times, with a few words of advice given from Theo, who – oddly enough – always seemed to have a square head on his shoulders when it came to these things. They both knew this day would come. It seemed better that they handle it on their own terms.

Hermione scoffed slightly when he mentioned their little bubble being popped by Ron, shaking her head as she gently eased the cloth from his hands. Not entirely playful, but in a much lighter mood than she had been moments ago, Hermione began tending to the last of his wounds in her own tender way.

"I doubt you helped that situation either, Malfoy," she teased lightly. "Beating someone to a bloody pulp hardly screams _civility_."

The witch could only assume that all of this had transpired through built-up tension… and the fact that Ron _did_ strike first. Still, feeding into someone else's violence only seemed to breed more violence. Nothing got solved or situated, and everyone was left to pick up the pieces. Everything just became volatile.

Madame Pomfrey wordlessly dropped off a healing potion at her station, then stated that she was heading to bed. Ronald already appeared to be asleep on his own bed, which Hermione was thankful for.

"Here." She offered Malfoy the potion. "Drink up and we can get out of here. I'll write the letter and send it off before we go to bed. Do you mind if I use your owl?"

 **DRACO** :

How would he start the letter? 'Dear, Mother. I've been shagging Hermione Granger' seemed a bit too much. Maybe 'Sorry to be a disappointment to the family line but-' seemed more appropriate. Accommodations would have to be made for the summer because surely his Mother wouldn't be over it by then and staying at the Manor just seemed absolutely out of the realm of possibility. Theo would probably be the next place he would go considering he truly had nowhere else.

Pansy would know and for an odd reason he did feel a bit of tightness in his chest about it. He didn't love her the way she had loved him, but they'd been raised together since babies. She was agitating and full of herself, but had still always been there even when he was fucking up. It wasn't a big loss, but it was still a loss all the same.

Her tease made him snort and shake his head slightly. There wasn't even a thought of civility in his head when Weasley was concerned and especially after he got swung at when all he was trying to do was snog Granger senseless. It was a bitter sort of feeling when you got punched, trying to shag your girl.

Taking the potion he uncorked it and finished it easily before standing up from his seated position on the bed with a slight groan. "Of course, yeah. The fucker is probably dead asleep, but I'll kick him or something." It was ironic that his barn owl was named such a looming name as Hades when in reality the thing was quite goofy and jovial which was quite a disappointment to his Father who bought the damn thing.


	12. WAR

**HERMIONE** :

The night before had been filled with a strange dread, but it was all quelled the moment they had trekked their way into their dormitory. Of course, Malfoy was still healing. After sending out her owl, Hermione was sure to help him along. Once they reached their commons, it was pushing two in the morning. Hermione had settled into Malfoy's bed, wary about engaging in any physical intimacy.

The night progressed in a strange and calm silence. Everything was going to come out tomorrow, and they would have to face the front lines together. Something about that didn't feel wrong or worrisome. Perhaps it was where they would _land_ after the dust was settled that was the true concern.

Either way, they clasped hands and had no issues staring at one another until Hermione caved first and fell asleep.

She awoke the next morning, bright and early, and threw on one of Malfoy's shirts. Just a simple white one. The first order of business was disappearing into the bathroom to have a shower. She kept her humming to a soft tone, barely audible to the ears of the slumbering blonde back in bed. She figured he needed more rest than she did.

She padded along to the kitchenette, still wearing his shirt, but now with very wet hair tied up in a bun, to prepare coffee and breakfast. Hermione felt oddly stiff as she cooked. Perhaps she had slept in a strange position, or maybe it was the impending doom looming over her shoulders. Maybe it was the tiredness weighing down her shoulders and making her yawn excessively.

The breakfast was small for her, but a more regular size for Malfoy. She wasn't all that hungry this morning. Something was pressing in the base of her stomach that she had been trying to suppress since she woke up. After today, nothing would be the same for them. Hermione both dreaded and celebrated that idea. There would be no more need to keep secrets or sneak around. The paranoia of being caught would dissipate. On the other hand, there would be a select rage from a few that would shatter everything they knew, and that was a _very_ terrifying concept.

 **DRACO** :

The first thing he did as his eyes lazily opened was reach out on the other side of the bed for her form. He found that it was empty and cold which must have meant she went for a shower earlier and didn't want to wake up. She'd always been very careful not to in the mornings no matter how many time she told her that he didn't mind. Sitting up slowly he groaned as each part of his body protested the movement including his pounding head when he ran his fingers over it. Getting clocked really made you sore turns out.

He walked out of the room in his boxers and to the bathroom where his shower was quick and he didn't feel like reaching for his own shampoo out of the shower on the sink so he just used hers. Smelling like a girl he washed remainder of any blood from his skin and emerged from the shower to towel off.

A few moments later he stepped into the kitchenette to the smell of breakfast and the sight of her there in his shirt and it was already obvious that she was nervous. Her shoulders seemed to sag and she wasn't humming like she usually did in the mornings. She was worried.

Approaching her from behind he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her neck. "Morning." He breathes before going to the kitchen table where the orange juice was and pouring himself a glass. It was strange to say the least because the air was so thick and tense and there was nothing they could do about it. Everyone would know today.

"I could kiss you in the Great Hall." He points out without much luster behind the statement. It was hard to be amusing when he knew after breakfast he had to owl his parents.

 **HERMIONE** :

She needed the small kiss on her neck much more than she cared to admit. Little gestures like that would be the things that got her through today and she wasn't about to waste them.

Hermione glanced briefly in Malfoy's direction while she began piling the scrambled eggs onto their respective plates. Complete with buttered toast, bacon, and warm coffee. In the process, she felt an unwilling smile tug at the corners of her lips from his statement. Perhaps lacking in enthusiasm, but it was still a pro for the countless cons they were going to face.

"One thing will never change, though," she began, offering him his plate for breakfast. "We'll still be sneaking away to snog in classrooms."

She picked up her own plate, leaning against the counter beside the stove, casually close to him. The future of this was inevitable. Once the rest of the world knew, though, perhaps there would be relief. Hermione highly doubted there could be _more_ terror than what they already felt. It was a nervous time.

But who were they kidding? They had been through war. Something as small as a completely healthy relationship seemed so… trivial… compared to past events of life and death. Perhaps things would be exciting for a while, but then the hype would fade. Things would get better.

Maybe that was just the Gryffindor in her being optimistic.

"How are you feeling?" She asked finally, casting wide eyes in his direction before returning to her plate.

 **DRACO** :

He smirks at the thought of still having the gall to sneak away to classrooms for a snog session. Yes. That would never change. He took the plate with happiness given that his stomach felt as if it was going to shrivel up and die. Immediately he's tearing into his toast, eyes closing as if this singular piece of bread was the answer to all his problems. At the moment it was. Finishing one piece in a few short moments he finally started actually chewing instead of inhaling and swallowed what was in his mouth.

"I feel like I got punched multiple times in multiple places on my body." He says plainly and glances down to his hands which were very purple and bruised. "And my hands feel like I went out and punched a brick wall with all my force. But besides that I'm good, Granger." Nodding to her he couldn't help but smirk before returning to the food.

The owl must have gotten to Potter by now. It was just a matter of time before he showed up here and shite popped off and he knew that his own letter would need to be sent before that happened. "What did you write?" He asks off handily as if he's not really interested when in reality it's the one thing he can't get his mind off of.

Would he have to fight, Potter too? Was that his penance for being what he was in the war? Fighting everyone who loved her so he could remain at her side? He quite liked fighting, honestly. It didn't seem like too much of a burden.

 **HERMIONE** :

In spite of the fact that he was clearly stating his pain, Hermione couldn't help but smile lightly in his direction, cut still on her lip. She doubted these would be the only scrapes and bruises they would obtain during this fight. She didn't seem to complain about it either.

She shrugged while digging idly into her food.

"I didn't tell him about us. I figured that would be best to do in person. I kept the letter vague, for the most part. I just said that Ron came looking for me here when he was drunk, you two had an altercation and now he's in the hospital wing. I asked him to come. Knowing Harry, he'll probably be here in about an hour, give or take." The witch shrugged helplessly. "Either way, I think Harry's going to be the least of our problems. He might not be your biggest fan, but he's far more reasonable than Ron." Most obvious statement of the day.

She took up a few more mouthfuls of food before setting aside her plate. Still with a few strips of bacon and half-eaten toast. Her stomach was not agreeing with food today.

"Do you know what you're going to say to your parents?" Hermione asked finally, apparently plagued with questions of her own. Inwardly, she was well aware that her issues would pale in comparison to Malfoy's. He was facing the possibility of disinheritance (in spite of what Theo had assured them was _never_ going to happen on account of Narcissa). He was also about to face the wrath of a very, _very_ pissed off Lucius Malfoy; one man who had never been known to possess even a sliver of kindness towards people in general, let alone muggle-borns.

She cringed somewhat at the thought, hating the idea of Malfoy having to carry that burden on his own.

 **DRACO** :

He nodded and grunted slightly at the idea of dealing with Harry. Yes. It wouldn't be as difficult, but he still didn't feel like getting the judging stare of Saint Potter down his neck. And there was also the fact of the disgusted stares. The very idea that she would be looked down upon because of him? It almost made him want to tell her that they were right and he should just go. She never had to deal with the sharp stares and snarls in her direction and she wasn't used to it. He was. Draco knew it was going to be hard on her.

The sheer mention of his parents makes him shudder slightly and he puts down his plate as well before shrugging. "Not really. I don't want to see them and I know they won't come here to see me so. . Might as well just get it all out in the open. I won't apologize to them because I don't want to start off with them thinking I consider you a mistake. I'll just be factual. I'm involved with Hermione Granger. Seems straightforward enough."

His jaw twitches as he excuses himself for a moment to grab parchment and a quill to write with. Leaning over the counter he scrawled maybe three sentences and then signed his name with large swooping letters that only Pureblooded higher ups would sign their name with and rolled it into a small roll.

"Easy. Hades is by the window given how Crookshanks is circling just waiting for him to come in so. . " His eyes met hers for a moment before leaving the kitchen again and going to one of the many windows along the wall and opening it to have the owl land on the sill. "Malfoy Manor. Quickly. I don't need you stopping for fucking detours, Hades." The owl seemed to huff and take the rolled parchment before flying off into the morning sky.

Clapping his hands together he decided just not to be nervous. It was done with. His shite was handled. Now was to focus on Potter. "We should probably get dressed to greet his stupid scarred head when he comes bounding in like he has to save the day. . .Again."

 **HERMIONE** :

She had dealt with bad publicity… _once_. There was a small calmness in the back of her mind, however, when it came to the Daily Prophet. Hermione had Rita Skeeter in her pocket, which meant that the editor could easily churn out some positive light, just in case their relationship hit the Wizarding World harder than they thought. With Hermione as a war hero and Draco as a former Death Eater, Hermione had the feeling that the media would turn this into a heavy sort of scandal.

She would cross that bridge when she got to it. All that mattered now was -

 _I'm involved with Hermione Granger_.

Every inch of her froze. Immovable. Her eyes, wide, honest, and blank. She watched as he began scuffling about and managing the whole affair as though he were sending out some simple greeting card. Hermione had never heard her first name on his tongue before. It sounded strange, and it threw her off. The confession of it all sounded so simple, so… like he said: _factual_. She had half anticipated a hesitation, a worry, a nervousness, _something_.

No. There was nothing. Just a few strokes of a quill and a quick send-off. There was no pause, no concern… nothing.

As Hades was sent off and the window closed behind him, Hermione didn't even realize that she was already carrying herself forward. Her bare feet padded along the cold floors, but she never noticed the chill. All she felt tingling her spine was a surreal excitement; a newfound glory.

When she reached him, she grabbed his face as gently as possible in the midst of her hype, drawing him down for a lightly stinging, mostly sizzling kiss.

 **DRACO** :

He had been nervous for weeks and months and nervous in the showers and at bed at night. He had been nervous in classes and walking the halls and nervous while speaking to friends. The last few months of his life had just been covered in nervousness and quite honestly he was tired of it.

It would be hard and painful and difficult but he would have told the world anything if not to just get the fucking weight of being found out off his back. They'd know today. He could hold her hand in the hallway and snap at anyone who looked too long. McLaggen would stay away.

They could be happy after this entire fucked up mess.

Draco would never admit it, but the thought of others learning acceptance and softness from their relationship being public knowledge? What else more could he ask for, if not keep a little boy from sneering the word Mudblood to a little girl who didn't deserve it. Wasn't that the point of fame? To better the world around you?

He was just about to tease her and say that if she kept wearing his shirts he'd be left with nothing but he was interrupted by the soft sound of her feet approaching him. His eyebrows furrowed and then she was grabbing his face with those soft hands and pulling him in for a kiss.

Draco was never one to hesitate and immediately wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her completely flush against his bare chest and deepen the kiss immediately. Potter would be there in less than an hour and no matter how much Draco wanted to just ignore the world and take her back to bed that just wasn't possible. Not today. Breaking the kiss, he sighs softly against her lips before pulling back a bit.

"What was that for, hm?"

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione was welcomed with fervor, which she always enjoyed. It had taken her a moment to realize just how brazen the motion was, but after today, none of that would matter. There wouldn't be any more hiding… unless, of course, they snuck into another abandoned broom closet or classroom. That was just a give-in.

She whispered out a whimper when he broke the kiss, keeping her eyes closed as his breath washed over her mouth.

"Nothing," she replied, a small, half-wry grin growing on her face as she lifted a few wet strands of hair from his eyes. In spite of the pain in her mouth, she couldn't stop smiling.

 _It's a thank you._

 _It means you make me happy._

 _It means I get to keep you, and that's the best feeling in the world._

"You're right." Hermione slowly unwound her arms from his neck, adjusting the shirt on her frame. "We should get dressed."

 _Before we damn the world and stay in bed all day._

The idea wasn't at all damnable, but there were things to be done. Lucky for them, it was a Saturday. Deal with all the troubles today, and they would have tomorrow free for lazing about. Hermione resigned her post with a sigh, absently tutting to herself while she began wandering towards her own bedroom to grab a change of clothes, all the while struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Once she was up the steps, she slipped into her room and rid herself of the garment, settling it neatly on the back of the chair for her desk.

Now that she was changed in more casual wear, Hermione felt a little more like herself. Pair of jeans, tank top, simple, purple sweater and sneakers. She had trudged to the base of the steps to her room, stuffing one her hands into the pockets of her sweater as she mustered up a few deep breaths to prepare herself for this conversation. Malfoy's shirt was in her other hand, clutched delicately so she didn't wrinkle it. The thing was still clean, she had just worn it for the morning to wander about. Her hair had been pulled into a low bun, just to keep it from getting too much into her face… and also to preserve the scent of creamy strawberries, as usual.

Crookshanks came to purr and beg for her attention, rubbing idly against her leg. She responded by patting the sweet thing gently in kind. Partly for Crookshanks' need for attention, and partly to soothe her own worries.


	13. HARRY

**DRACO** : Hades had found him when he was in the courtyard to tell Theo exactly what had happened and the bird seemed frazzled but wasn't clutching anything in his talons. Theo had asked him if that was a good or a bad sign and Draco just snorted and told his friends that there was no good or bad signs. Only bad when it came to his family and their ideals of Muggleborn views.

He felt eerily more calm at the fact that now his parents knew and it was utterly out of his hands. There would be nothing to do now. It was a small weight off his shoulders, although they were weighed down by very many other ones.

Casual for Draco was a white dress shirt and black dress pants with dark leather shoes without a tie. Basically his normal attire except lacking a tie. Granger had teased him once that he couldn't look casual even if he tried. He'd showed her up by putting on a t-shirt and jeans and feeling strange and much too free in them while he walked around the dorm. He'd only lasted an hour and just opted to take her to bed so he could get out of the damned clothes and do something more fun.

Feet take him swiftly through the corridor because he knows she'll be in the infirmary. Weasley. He must have woken up by now. There's always this nagging thought in his brain that somehow the ginger would convince Granger that she made the wrong choice. That their history would trump their current softness for each other and he'd be left with nothing. It was a fear he detested but it still ran rampant in his skull none the less.

The infirmary doors are open and he sees her back and chestnut curls disappear behind a white sheer as she pulls it closed around the bed so she could talk to the boy in a bit more of privacy and that just makes Draco walk even faster, jaw tight and fists already clenched for more beating.

 **HARRY** :

Luna had smiled at him like she _knew_ the whole bloody time; like she _knew_ about this affair before he had even mentioned anything to her. Her whimsical little smile was compliant and accepting, and Harry was instantly floored at just how broad the borders of her precious heart reached. It made him sink into a chaste kiss with the girl, overflowing with unparalleled affection. Leave it to Luna to make even the strangest things feel absolutely normal.

Of course, Harry had remained in her presence for as long as humanly possible, all while knowing that Malfoy was supposed to show up at any second. He was already getting a migraine over it. Malfoy was a mess to deal with, even before all of this took place. Now, it was up to Harry to be the bigger person and simply suss out the bloke's intentions with Hermione, who was practically his sister. Now and then, Potter would peer around the corner, waiting for the traditional Malfoy swagger to bring him sauntering along the hall.

It wasn't until he heard the rapid quickening of steps echoing off the walls where Harry had a very precise inkling as to who he was about to face. Still, much to Luna's beaming expression, Harry remained as still as possible, waiting until the very last millisecond to leap to his feet and stop Malfoy from ever entering the infirmary in the first place.

With an elongated "noooope", Harry grasped the collar of Malfoy's neck, relying solely on the pureblood's love for his attire to guide him away from Hermione's and Ron's private conversation. "Let's not do that and say we did, yeah?" He dragged the boy along rather quickly, tucking around the corner of the hallway to give them a bit more privacy.

"Besides. I wanted to speak with you."

 **DRACO** :

Just as he was about to enter the infirmary he was pulled by his collar and immediately went with the tug. "This is spanish materia-" But before he could snap and complain at whoever was stretching his precious shirt he saw that it was Potter and grunted slightly. Alright. Maybe it was best to go with him. His eyes glanced to. . _Luna Lovegood_? She was also in his home locked away. Peachy. They might as well call a little party for everyone he's perfectly victimized.

Before he can think much on it he's tugging himself away from the grip of Harry's hand and just staring at the boy with a slight fuming expression. His chest heaves and his nostrils flare as he glares into the green eyes of the precious hero of their world.

He hadn't seen Potter since they were on trial. Draco thought that surely his family would be sentenced to Azkaban or more likely to death. He'd been scared at first but by the time they got to the reading of all the crimes they were accused of? Draco felt as if he deserved it. Surely death was just a small price to pay even if serving under Voldemort had been a bloody torture all on it's on.

Harry had walked in and Draco had never heard him speak for such a prolonged amount of time. It took perhaps two hours of constant reassurance and vouching for him and his Mother to convince them that they were able to be spared. Not once did Potter falter or slip up or hesitate. He told the truth of Draco not giving him up and Narcissa doing the same. Of course both were because of selfish reasons but the Ministry didn't need to know that at all.

He never got the chance to say thank you after they were released. Harry had just given him a nod and that was it.

"Speak to me?" He asks a bit hurriedly as he actively tries to calm down his thumping heart. "What could you want to speak to **_me_** about?"

 **HARRY** :

Luna had beamed up at him with an omniscient smile, saying a light and airy "hello, Draco" as he struggled along with Harry around the corner. When they disappeared, she returned to reading the book she had brought with her.

Harry, on the other hand, appeared rather casual. Simple jumper, denim, trainers. Nothing fancy. Clearly he was off from training and chose to roam the halls of Hogwarts as himself, not as any sort of Ministry official. He was here for Hermione, he wasn't here to brag. With that in his mind, he could almost hear the echoes of _Saint Potter_ coming from Draco's thought process.

He gave the blonde a hard look at the question.

"Oh, you know, Quidditch. Broom maintenance and all that rubbish – I wanna talk to you about Hermione, obviously," the bespectacled boy said, gesturing to Malfoy for emphasis. He pushed his round glasses up his nose with his index finger before he continued. "Besides, she can handle Ron on her own. Either of us stepping in will just make it worse."

He was a little afraid of this. Awkward silences. Harry was never much for talking about feelings or statements of intent. He had been working on what he was going to say to Malfoy this whole time. After Hermione had informed him of the whole story – while kindly leaving out parts that Harry really didn't want to hear about – he knew the _big brother_ talk would need to be altered.

"Hermione told me what happened last night. You 'n Ron. She told me he hit her by accident." Harry's face seemed to pale at the statement. Clearly, he was just as uncomfortable with the idea of the muggleborn getting hurt by anyone. Especially Ron. "I'm not saying you mucking up his face is a good thing, but… I get it."

 **DRACO** :

His eyes narrow slightly at the sarcasm that drips from the other boy like syrup. If they were younger, he would have fired something back or even go as far as to shoot a hex his way. But no. They were adults now, apparently with the war behind them and the ill feelings behind them as well. As much as Draco loathed saying it he owed Potter his life and more importantly his Mother and his Father's lives. He wouldn't be throwing hexes anytime soon.

When he mentions Granger it feels a bit weird to hear her being referenced by her first name. He hasn't heard it too often given everyone who he knows always called her Granger or something far less kind. It just seemed strange to him to say. The mention of what happened between him and Weasley got a slight twitch of his jaw.

 ** _Great._**

He was about to get chewed out by the precious boy who lived and he'd have to take it because his life was spared by him. Fantastic. He couldn't spend his day in any better circumstances. But it's when Harry expresses understanding that the blonde looks a bit put off. It was unnatural. They weren't supposed to agree.

"He's lucky that's all I did. I would have killed him if she hadn't-. . ." He says it so easily before pausing and narrowing his eyes on the boy slightly. "I'm not too **_fond_** of her being alone with him for this long. Gods know what he's putting in her head and she's stressed right now, so I should really be going. . " But he didn't make any move to go around Potter. even with his voice dripping in deep concern and annoyance.

The main fact of the matter was that the two of them had been her best friends before he was ever in the picture in a good light. He couldn't one up them. He could think to be more important in her life. This was her family and he had been so awful to her for years that he just. .Wasn't.

"I suppose I can stay for a **_minute_**. What is it you wanted to discuss about, Granger?"

 **HARRY** :

 _Gods know what he's putting in her head_ –

Harry hadn't laughed this hard in a good, long while. He burst out, keeling at the waist and balancing himself on his knees. He was in throes of hysterics, and by the time he straightened up, his glasses were fogging.

One glimpse of Malfoy's serious expression, though, and Harry cleared his throat.

"Oh, you're actually being serious," he said through a series of chuckles, reaching up to remove his glasses. He cast his eyes down, using his sweater sleeve to clean them off while he attempted to make his giggle fit more docile. "Look, I hate to say it, but trust me on one thing: Hermione has beaten Ron more times than you have. She knows what she's doing. She's strong. You got nothing to worry about." Once his glasses were cleaned off, he placed them back on his face, adjusting the bridge at the nose a little.

His gaze flashed briefly down the hall, leaning a little to spot Luna, who was still content with reading her book. He could hear a few shouts emanating from the infirmary, but he dismissed them casually, as though they happened all the time. Clearly, Hermione and Ron fighting was nothing new to him.

"Anyway, I had a lot that I wanted to say at first. Speech and everything. But here's the bottom line: I'm a fan of Hermione. By the looks of everything – and what she's told me – you are too. We're fans of her, she's a fan of us. So, for her sake, we're gonna have to refrain from slaughtering each other whenever we're in the same vicinity. D'you know what I mean? Don't need to be best mates or anything, just… civil, I guess. Lack of a better word 'n all that."

 **DRACO** :

He stared at the laughing boy with a dumbstruck expression just seeing how he was absolutely amused by what Draco had said. It was a bit strange to see him in such a state around him given that he doesn't think he's ever been the reason for Potter to laugh or even smile. Not that he ever wanted to be of course. The feeling was just jarring.

When he was done sputtering out laughter he had to listen to the words of wisdom from Harry Potter and quite honestly, it was the most difficult thing he's had to listen to in a long time. Draco knew that the boy wasn't trying to rub in the fact that he knew Granger better but that's what it felt like. Arms cross over his chest.

The shouts traveled down the very corridor and Draco could feel himself smirk slightly to find that Hermione was more of the one screaming and telling him off. It wasn't quite clear what she was saying, but apparently it was very passionate and angry. Good. Fucking prick.

His eyebrows furrow at the mention of him being a fan of Granger. That was putting it. . Lightly for starters. He listened on and waited until the dark haired boy was completely finished before letting them drag on in silence. Maybe he did it on purpose just to make the situation more awkward than it already was. His jaw hardens and he just nods once thinking that was enough. What would Granger say? She'd want him to be civil. He sighs slightly before his lips opening again.

"Yes. Civil." It's obviously hard for him to say anything good or extend any sort of good faith to the other boy but hesitatingly he reaches out to shake his hand. "I never got to thank you for what you did at our trial. So I'll say one nice thing to you and then I'm done forever. Thank you, Potter."

 **HARRY** :

Harry remained still for a moment, hating the awkward silence. Never one to pretend to understand things he didn't, Harry never commented on Malfoy's blossoming relationship as a whole. He owed Hermione his life, and then some. She had been his hero since first year. He would always trust her judgment, no matter how skewed it might have seemed from afar.

When Malfoy's hand thrust out in agreement, Harry hesitated somewhat before reaching out to take it. He shook Malfoy's hand firmly and briefly before releasing and making a face, like he had just tasted some bad food.

"Oh, yeah, you're welcome, but… let's make an agreement to just… not do that again. Ever." He said, shrugging helplessly. No matter the civility between them now, overdramatic thanks like this were just… awkward. Harry could stand being civil. He even preferred a nice spot of banter. But any amount of sentiment coming from Malfoy was simply _weird_ for him.

The series of shouts paused for a moment and Harry's attention was instantly on it, as though he were picking up on some weird, abnormal, Golden Trio frequency. The silence suddenly felt jarring, like a bomb was about to drop.

"PADMA?!"

There it was.

 _SMACK!_

"YOU-"

 _SMACK!_

"COMPLETE-"

 _SMACK!_

" ** _ARSE_** , RONALD WEASLEY!"

" **OW**! Blimey, Hermione!"

"I was _really_ afraid that was gonna happen. C'mon," Harry muttered as he began hurrying around the corner, patting down his jeans in a panic. He held out a hand as a signal for Malfoy to pause just outside the infirmary, still searching himself. "That's why I… aha…" he tugged Hermione's wand from his sock and silently urged Luna, who was slowly getting up from her seat, to take it.

The little blonde pocketed it rather quickly and Harry stood at the doorway, tapping his leg… a little afraid to go in, because honestly—

The white sheet practically busted from its hinges as Hermione swung it open, charging directly for Harry, who suddenly appeared terrified, yet in sore attempts to keep himself composed.

"HARRY POTTER! WHERE. IS. MY WAND." Hermione demanded, cheeks beet red.

"I dunno!" He said, holding up his hands as he stumbled back a few paces.

"Harry, you give me my wand right now!"

 **DRACO** :

He nodded immediately at the prospect of never doing that again. Good. Everything was settled and he never had to be anything but civil to Potter again. This was good. Malfoy didn't notice the pause of screaming until Harry seemed so wrapped in attention by it as if he had suddenly heard something that was going to blow up any second.

"Wha-" But he didn't even get out his words.

The screams took care of that quite well and with each loud smack to accompany her words, Draco felt a weight lift off his chest. Well. That was the end of any concern he had about the two of them. Well spotted. Following Potter with a bit of a furrowed brow he watched as he patted himself down and then saw the wand that he was now so used to, being thrust into the blonde girl's hands. She looked healthier since the last time he saw her. Then again it was in his home after she had been kept for information so. . He'd hope so.

Draco was far from prepared when Hermione came absolutely bounding out of the infirmary looking as if she was truly going to murder someone. Grinning so widely was strange in the company of Potter but Draco couldn't help himself. Sure he was mad at whatever had set her off, but for now? Oh, for now he was just utterly pleased with her reaction.

"Oh. Have you lost it? Here, you can use mine." And he's going to grip his wand from his pocket and easily extending it to her before Potter snatches that away too and glares at him. Clearing his throat, he removes the grin off his face and simply looks away as innocent as ever. Damnit. He'd wanted to watch the ginger get burned in his bed.

" ** _Granger_**. . " Even addressing her in public felt a bit strange because his voice didn't carry that usual sharpness he had to pretend to hold for months. "What did he do?"

 **HARRY** :

"Are you mad?! She'll kill us all!" Harry snapped when he snatched the wand from Draco, tossing it behind him to Luna, who caught it with ease and pocketed that as well.

Hermione, now positively fuming, turned back to Ron and brandished a solid, pointed finger in his face. At this point, Ron knew better, and backed away, just as she had gotten up close and personal, flinching in utter fear of being smacked again. She might not have looked like she could pack a solid hit, but her outbursts proved otherwise.

"All this time… _all this time_ , I held on. I didn't even—" she cut herself off, staring Ron down as she trembled with unparalleled rage. Harry cautiously stepped forward, holding out his hands from his body in a very subtle form of surrender. He was testing the waters to see if he could maneuver the situation, maybe make Malfoy escort her out while he talked some solid sense into Ron. At this rate, though, Hermione looked like she was ready to smack Ron's face against every reachable surface of this room.

"I know, Hermione, I know! Why do you think I came to you?"

 _SMACK!_

It was lightning fast, shot hard across his bruised face. Ron let out a groan and held his smarting cheek, knowing damn well that wasn't even all the power she could pack behind a hit.

"It's done, Ronald." She had tears in her eyes now, and she straightened herself up, reaching a calmer point of her anger, which honestly appeared more terrifying to Ron than her abusive stage. Her arms folded across her chest. "You have absolutely _no right_ to sit there and judge _me_. Not after this. It's finished. All of it. I'm sorry, Harry, I have to leave."

She pivoted on her heel as Harry gave her an understanding pat on the shoulder, ready to go. However, she didn't get more than a few steps when Luna had met her pace, giving her a gentle smile. Hermione hated it, partly because she could never, ever be angry enough to yell and scream at Luna. The girl was too sweet and forgiving. Hermione couldn't even be angry when the blonde girl forked over both wands.

"Th—thank you, Luna," Hermione managed through _very_ angry tears, taking up both wands in her hand.

She offered Draco's back to him.

 **DRACO** :

He was just about to go on about how, if he was killed it, would be well worth it to have Weasley also die, but decided best against it. He felt completely out of place in this. . **_.Group argument._** He missed the days where he could just watch Granger fume and yell from a distance and not feel the obligation to actually be there and listen. He didn't even stop to consider that he should have pity for Weasley in the least. Surely, if she was this sharp and mad he deserved it, and possibly more.

His hands find their way into his pockets as he just watches this and glances to Potter who seems like this is an everyday occurrence, and decides perhaps he's right. There's no need to get involved. How a little frame could shake with so much rage was beyond him and he was latching on to every word to try and piece together some sort of story, given she obviously wasn't in the right state to answer questions.

The smack rings out across the entire corridor and it's the sound of angels to him. Now they'd both wrecked his face. It was a bonding thing, surely. He had thought it was funny right up until he could hear the tears welling in her eyes and it made him shift from light humor to agitation. Weasley had made her cry? Actually cry? He'd heard it plenty of times in her room, but he'd never seen it for himself and her calming anger was a bit chilling to even pay attention to.

As soon as she announced her leaving he took his hands out of his pockets, because that was also his dismissal to go. He didn't even stop to wonder when he had reached that point of not caring to be around others if she wasn't there. When she left, he left and that was just how it seemed to be. Weasley had gotten his beating from Draco already and quite honestly his knuckles were still on fire so there'd have to be a little time before he got another one.

The wand offered back to him makes him hesitate for a moment before taking it from her hand. He lets his fingers brush by the back of her knuckles lightly before he takes it, because he wouldn't very well just crush her into his arms. Not with them here and not right now. It seemed she needed to calm down a bit first.

"I'll come with you." He says it like a simple statement but he knows it isn't. It's an offer and it's open to being turned down if she needed to. He'll understand that too.


	14. TOGETHER

**HERMIONE** :

Hermione looked… well, heartbroken. Not entirely in the sense of a woman scorned, but a best friend betrayed. Ron stared after her listlessly, while Harry motioned mutely for Luna to join his side. The airy blonde patted Hermione's shoulder once for comfort before abandoning her post and walking towards the Chosen One with a whimsical frown. The two drew the curtain to speak with Ron alone, and Hermione's head swiveled in Draco's direction when he offered to accompany her.

There was a long pause before she conceited to his presence as she walked. Everything was noiseless as they exited the infirmary. Hermione appeared to be on no set path, wandering aimlessly with no fixed destination and tears welling in her eyes. There was the occasional sniffle that sounded from her, but they were becoming less and less throughout the walk as she began composing herself. The conversation, no matter how vague, continued to replay in her mind. She was overthinking. She was hurt.

She didn't want to say the truth. Partially because she hated that Malfoy had been right this whole time, and partially because saying the words out loud made them true… and that hurt more than thinking them. Still, as they merged into a less crowded hallway and Hermione had taken to a small nook, resting on a stone bench, she realized that the truth would need to surface eventually. She reached up to wipe away a few lingering tears, tucking her wand into her sock.

"You were right," Hermione said after a long stint, resting her palms to her knees while she drank in a deep breath. Her delicate fingers brushed a few stray curls from her face that managed to fall loosely from her bun, slipping them behind her ear. "Ron… he was with someone else when we were…" her voice trailed. She scoffed at herself. "I was so _stupid_."

 **DRACO** :

Draco supposed he was just slow when it came to emotions but it didn't occur to him that Lovegood and Potter were involved until she stepped beside Harry with the ease that only came when you cared for the person you were standing beside. He didn't linger on the reality of it long given that he didn't care enough to think it over.

The long pause is expected and when she begins to walk he naturally just falls into step beside her. He doesn't reach out to touch her or even speak at all. Sometimes people needed company, but nothing more. Silence could be a healer, just as much as any kind word. He wouldn't want to be talked to or touched if he was in such a state.

It physically pained him to see her cry and the feeling didn't unnerve him, as it once would. He didn't care that he wasn't ashamed of being upset with her pain, as he once would have been. The time for pretending he didn't care was long over and quite honestly he didn't want to go back.

She merged off into a less crowded hallway and he followed her to sit on the bench, jaw set as hard as stone and eyes staring straight ahead of him just waiting until she spoke herself. The wait wasn't long and he finally looked over at her when she murmured he was right.

Well he had been right about many things. He was just waiting for her to narrow it down and when she did? Oh he could feel the sheer rage bubbling in his stomach like hot irons and he wants to get up and go break the gingers face even more than before. The fact of the matter was that she needed him there more than he needed to murder Weasley.

"You weren't stupid." His voice comes out a bit strained given his difficulty in controlling his temper which is also obvious by the way his fists clench and relax over and over. "We're blind when we love someone. We don't see their faults or if we do. . We ignore them."

 **HERMIONE** :

It occurred to her then, just how hard this must have been for Malfoy. On top of whatever anger he must have felt on Ron's account, he was forced to endure the sorrows over something long past. Perhaps she was being foolish, crying over something that hardly mattered anymore. Strange to say, but Hermione had found a more secure happiness, being at _his_ side than she ever did at Ron's. Maybe none of it mattered, and maybe it was better this way.

She huffed in frustration from her own stress, hating that she had allowed herself to be so bothered by this. Ron had been with Padma since he had begun training at the Ministry. Now, his silence made all sorts of sense. Now she knew why he had forgotten her birthday, and thought that an apology was viable, as opposed to just telling her the truth. All this honesty still never made the ache in her stomach lessen by any amount.

"I shouldn't be this upset about it," she muttered, sniffling a little into the back of her sleeve. She was trying to compose herself. "It's just… he's been my best friend for seven years… you don't… you don't do _this_ to a friend. You just don't."

Relationship aside, it wasn't the romantic part of her that ached for Ron. Not anymore. In spite of better judgment, Hermione had been hard-pressed since her first year to prove her worth to pretty much anybody who would acknowledge her. She needed validation to be in this world. She needed to know that she had earned her place. When her feelings for Ron had grown stronger, Hermione spent _years_ trying to prove her worth to him… only to have him leave during the one time she needed him the most, on the hunt for horcruxes.

He had returned later, and boy, she made him pay for it.

By now, Ron was accustomed to whatever weakness Hermione had when it came to him. All this time, bullying her in his own way, only to have her mad at him… and inevitably come back to resolve the issue. Not this time, though. Hermione was sure she could see the shock shimmering in his eyes when she told him their friendship had reached its close. She had never said that before. Not that she was entirely a pushover when it came to him, but she had never told him that it was over. Not once. Not even during the war.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment of silence. "I didn't mean to… get you involved in that."

 **DRACO** :

He would have told her that he understood but. . He didn't. He'd never been in her situation or anything close to it in the least. He'd never had a friend where he wasn't prepared for their eventual betrayal. The only one he'd ever put full trust in was Theo and there was no way that anything like this would ever happen even if it wasn't romantic. Theo and him had been attached since birth not just their first year.

Draco had to actually think about if he was upset or not she was so torn up. Should he be? She wasn't with Weasley anymore so he could understand why someone would make the assumption that she should just be able to get over it. Perhaps when he was younger it would have stung him but now? He understood what loss was and she had just lost something. His own jealousy would have just made it worse.

He didn't understand the situation but he understood her. He'd watched her for years following around Weasley and trying with all her might to get some sort of romantic recognition. Some sort of recognition at all. The moron was too thick and too emotionless to understand that her one childhood need was to be noticed and appreciated for being there. Even during their many stupid adventures, she had often been the one to solve the problems and the boys were always the ones most praised.

Perhaps she was more like Slytherins than he had thought. Never getting the recognition they deserve. "Hm?" He had been thinking so much that he didn't quite catch what she said and finally his attention is completely on her.

His hand reaches out and grips her own, entwining their fingers together as he sighs. "You're involved in it. I'm involved with **_you_**. I signed up for this and I think it's really too ** _late_** to back out now." A small smirk paints the corner of his mouth as his shoulder bumps into hers gently. Not that he would ever want to sign out. Not that he'd ever want to give her up.

"You're not alone, you know. You don't have to handle this all by yourself. I'm here."

 **HERMIONE** :

It was difficult for Hermione to admit that she had been living in Harry's shadow, particularly since she knew full well that it wasn't his fault. Harry was thrust into the spotlight as a child, and though Hermione had earned the title of ' _brightest witch of her age_ ', it never seemed to matter. Harry was The Boy Who Lived – the Chosen One.

Looking at his position now, it was a title Hermione could never see herself bearing without crumbling entirely under the pressure. Emotionally, Harry was strong; built to endure. Hermione got upset over things like _this_. Envy wasn't in the cards. It was more the lack of recognition everyone in Harry's year seemed to get, because… well, _who_ could possibly measure up to his accomplishments?

The witch hadn't even noticed when Malfoy reached for her hand. The gesture was so natural now, the idea of it happening in a public setting, as students filtered in and out of the hallways, seemed to avoid her attention entirely.

Hermione felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth as his shoulder bumped lightly against hers, urging her spirits to lift. They did. Slightly. She even managed a small, breathy laugh at the fact.

"I suppose I'm _stuck with you_ now," the witch jested in return, linking her small fingers with his own tightly. A soft sigh breezed through her lips as she realized how much she needed that reassurance. She hadn't looked away from him until she felt someone staring at her, making her cheeks go a bit red. She turned her gaze to the stretch of the hallway when she heard a few hisses and took note of a group of Slytherin girls who were haphazardly gesturing towards Hermione and Malfoy, giggling almost wickedly as they turned the corner. She had adopted a confused expression… until she glanced down at their joined hands and realized the reason for the occurrence. Another small laugh left her, almost mocking their immaturity. "Well, this is a development."

 **DRACO** :

He had never thought himself good of cheering anyone up or just being soft enough for someone to feel light in his presence. He felt warmed when she jested back with him and a sense of actually doing something right. How the tables have turned from their childhood when he had said something disgusting to her and she had run off to the comfort of Potter and Weasley. Now here she was getting that same comfort from him. Life worked in ways he would never understand and it was almost as if it was laughing at them.

"Completely stuck. I'm sorry to disappoint." His eyes roll and he's just about to say something else when the traditional hisses and laughter fills his ears and is aware that they're Slytherin girls before he even turns to look. They had this way of making everyone around them aware of their presence without even fully trying to. Unlike, Hermione who seemed a bit confused at first he knew immediately what it was.

He could have dropped her hand and in a way he wanted to. It was ingrained into him to care about what others thought. What his house thought. His fingers tighten on hers and he realizes now that he wouldn't let it go, even if she burned him like hot coals.

"We didn't even need to wait until Weasley leaked it. It seems we'll have a fan club by this afternoon. Brilliant." He seemed more bitter about it than she was, jaw tightening and chest heaving with a long exhale. It wasn't that he was ashamed, because at this point, it would be idiotic to be ashamed. He just didn't feel that way about her blood status anymore. There was just the annoyance of knowing he'd have to deal with his housemates, Pansy in particular.

"We should really get moving. Those girls are trouble and they're always crowding around-" But he didn't even get to finish because the one person he did not want to see right now came walking around the corner as if looking for something.

"Pansy." He finished with his eyes closing and his blood pressure already beginning to sky rocket as she locked on him and came rushing over. By the time she got in front of the both of them her face was red and her chest heaving. Grey hues looked up at her just as her mouth opened.

" ** _Are you going to explain yourself, Drakey_**?" Eugh. The very name was cringe worthy.

 **HERMIONE** :

"I mean, you mentioned holding my hand in the Great Hall, but to be honest, I thought that wouldn't be until… well, I didn't think it would all come out _at once_ , anyway." Hermione was a little stumped, not fully understanding the weight of his words. She knew she would figure it all out soon enough. As if the whole dilemma with Ron hadn't been weighing enough on her shoulders, now she had to worry about the backlash of the Slytherins.

She had been about to follow him up – about to bolt in the direction of their dormitory to avoid the swarm of insults and jabber from the Slytherins. Hell, Hermione was ready to _run_ , which was something she never thought she would do again when it came to an opposing force. Still, this was an awful lot of ridicule to take in the span of less than eight hours.

 _Drakey_.

Okay, that made Hermione stifle a snort, which was still reasonably loud. It was really difficult to demand attention when one used pet names like that. The witch hid her mouth behind her hand in attempts to bar the smile from Pansy's view. Pansy, of course, caught this, and her head jerked in Hermione's direction. Her glare would have been enough to melt iron, and if Hermione hadn't been so entertained by the use of a pet name like _Drakey_ , perhaps she would have been slightly terrified.

Nope. It was too late. No going back. Now the situation was just _funny_.

"Something amusing, _mudblood_?"

Perhaps she should have been offended, or bristled at the nickname. But again. _Drakey_. Hermione lowered her head, allowing Malfoy to take the lead on the conversation while she tried her best to stop her shoulders from shaking too hard.

 **DRACO** :

He realized he was still gripping Granger's hand and lets it go with the smallest touch to the back of her hand with his thumb so she knows that it wasn't out of embarrassment. Pansy was easier to deal with if you paid attention and he was just about to speak when he heard the loud snort come from Granger's mouth and he too had to stifle the smile that bloomed across her lips. " ** _Shame_** on you, Granger." He says to her with a mock serious expression before returning his gaze back to Pansy.

"Really, Pansy. She's got the name carved in her skin so I'm afraid you'll have to be more creative. I'd suggest a quip about her hair or horrid posture-" He stopped to look at Hermione for a moment. "No offense."

It was obvious by his body language and words that he took this as one giant joke and it was quite hard not to. Pansy had always been quite over the top.

"As for _explaining_ myself. . I'm not sure what you'd like me to explain, really. Could you enlighten me with your vast fountain of overflowing knowledge?" At this point he was just tired to still be in her presence and wanted nothing more than to just go to their dorms and listen to Granger read Hamlet to him with that soft voice he found soothing above anything else.

"You're sudden closeness with ** _it._** "

Pansy's glare went from him back to Hermione for a moment before returning to him again. **_It_**. Well that was a new one. Referencing her as even less than a person. It agitated him, but obviously, not as much as Pansy might have liked.

"If it escaped your notice, I am Head Boy. . Granger is Head Girl. Do you believe we simply sit around and work magically gets done? We do need to talk, Pansy. We do sleep in the same place… _same bed_ , most nights."

 **HERMIONE** :

Everything was spiraling downhill from here. As much as Hermione might have dreaded a conversation like this, it appeared as though it was going to become the very highlight of her dreary day. She had always envisioned Pansy as someone who was _over the top_ when it came to confrontations. It was difficult to mistake her shrill voice and laughter as anything other than a big joke. Now that she had stormed up, righteous and pompous, Hermione saw nothing but a mere jester where a Slytherin should have been.

To be honest, she was a little disappointed. Hermione had built Pansy up to the point where she was positive that any sort of confrontation with her over Malfoy would be an absolute nightmare. Perhaps that all came in the aftermath? It didn't matter. All this time, Hermione had been dreading this. Now, she had no idea _why_.

No wonder Theo constantly bragged about the pranks he had pulled on her. Hermione was cooking up a few more to suggest to him as the conversation wore on. Although, Malfoy had received a playful glare from her at the mention of her poor hair maintenance and posture. He would pay for that one later.

 _It_.

That had caught her attention, though it was quickly remedied by the quip of them sleeping in the same bed. Hermione was quick to catch Pansy's disgusted expression, eventually removing the hand from her face as her laughter died out. The muggleborn eventually lifted herself from her seat, tucking her hands idly into the pockets of her hoodie.

"Also… because we sleep in the same bed, I'm fairly certain he's biblically aware that I'm a _girl_ …" Hermione turned slightly in Malfoy's direction, feigning stupidity. "That's it, isn't it? Girl? I said that right?"

 **DRACO** :

Pansy's expression was something he wish he could have taken a picture of. He knew he didn't need to be afraid of a physical encounter because quite honestly Pansy wasn't one to be violent. Not physically, at least. She tended to pay people back by passive aggressive means. With that worry out of the way, he was simply tired of having to remain in the same presence as her.

"Yes. You did so well, Granger." He says with a lower voice that you might talk to a child with, patting her back and going along quite easily with her little act. Obviously, this pissed off Pansy given how red her face was becoming and the way her entire body shook as if she was about to explode. It was bittersweet, in a way. She had always been annoying, but she was always there. A constant. There was a small sense of loss in his chest.

"She's quite the girl. I'd say _woman_ at this point, really. Besides that, I don't think we have much more to discuss. We should be off anyway. Lots of things to get done." His voice is slightly colder and more aloof as his hand pressed to Granger's lower back.

Pansy's mouth opens and Draco immediately cuts her off. "I've already told my parents. So there's no need for you to go on a long rant about your intentions." She looked spitting mad that he had known what she was going to say before she said it, eyes narrowing to slits.

"Are you ready, Granger?" He asks smoothly and turning his eyes on the brunette.

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione faked a ridiculous amount of pride when he mentioned the word _woman_. As his hand boldly pressed to her lower back, she leaned into him on instinct. It was difficult to hold an act like this and be aloof when his touches affected her so deeply. In spite of all this horrendous drama, she still found herself grounded when he decided to put his hands on her so casually. In the beginning, she had thought that the cliché would prove true – that the excitement of the relationship might fade when the truth came out. There was something endearing about forbidden fruit.

The shiver that raked up her spine was potent, forcing her to face the cold, hard fact that it didn't matter what the state of this bond was to the public. She still found that her knees were weak and her thighs were warming. She gnawed absently upon the uninjured part of her lower lip, slowly weaving her gaze to rest on his face as he stood his ground. Her grin was becoming all the more genuine.

By the time he turned to her, Hermione couldn't find her voice. Her blush was hard, peppering her cheeks in red. She managed a firm nod in his direction as she wrapped a thin arm around his waist and didn't even bother looking at Pansy.

The Slytherin girl was likely fuming by now.

All Hermione could think of was the anticipation she felt clenching in the base of her gut as she forced herself to slip away slightly. He was much taller than her and walking while glued to his side was almost impossible. She settled for lightly sliding her hand into his own and giving it a small squeeze. Suddenly, the rest didn't seem to matter.

"Want to head back to the dorm?"

 **DRACO** :

He could practically see every emotion across her face. Gryffindors were always so open and brazen with each emotion they felt to the point where it often felt like he was just reading a book in her eyes. The arm curling around his waist was comforting to say the least and he couldn't help but smirk at the very outrage on Pansy's face as they turned away and began to walk.

She stepped away from him a bit and he understood why of course. Their height difference was vast and it was cute when she tried to keep up with long strides so close to him. Her fingers curled in his own and he returned the gesture without looking at her again. He was much more concerned with giving each person who looked at them too long a cold and sharp look.

"Hm? Yes. I think it'd do some good to get out of the public eye for a while." He always preferred being alone with her anyway, even if they didn't need to keep this secret anymore. Things were just different when they were alone and allowed to relax instead of his jaw being as tight as his attitude. The looks of other students are so obvious and not at all hidden that he found himself narrowing his eyes at more than a few people. He'd thought perhaps he would get used to the attention, given he'd been a Death Eater and unwanted popularity followed him like the plague.

Nobody says a thing and perhaps it's because his stare looks purely murderous even while his grip tightened on her hand as if he had something to prove. Reaching the steps to the tower he finally released her hand and began stalking up them with angry hard steps as if he was trying to make his calves burn.

 **HERMIONE** :

In spite of the symbolism of this moment, Hermione could feel the stares as well. They didn't bother her. She had suffered the hard stamp of public ridicule since the very beginning of her time here at Hogwarts. How ironic that she was now holding the hand of the very boy who initiated most of her suffering eons ago. However, one swift glance in Malfoy's direction and Hermione could tell that this was taking more of a toll on him than herself.

She abided him, naturally, allowing the blonde to go through the motions. It was, after all, his first day with facing something like this. The Death Eater status was one thing, but defying everything he had been raised to believe in, seemingly in a day, and suffering the public backlash to top it off… well, it was something else entirely. The world was going to crumble down now, and Hermione had appointed herself long ago to be the one to help him rebuild his foundations.

She had resolved to be something he could lean on long ago… perhaps the very first time he kissed her at the piano bench.

Hermione said nothing as they wove through the shifting staircases, each step heavier than the last, and eventually reached the steps twirling up to Morrigan's portrait. He seemed more determined to get to the top now, which caused Hermione to frown. Still, she said nothing, chewing again on the uninjured part of her lip as she contemplated several ways to lift his burden.


	15. I LOVE YOU

**HERMIONE** :

He needed something right now. Release. A reassurance. Something concrete to tell him that he was doing the right thing. Hermione was quick to mutter the password and get them behind closed doors, into their sanctuary. She had been struggling to keep up with him now, but that was alright.

Her hand reached out lightly as they reached the common area, pressing to his bicep.

"Malfoy…" she drew out the name softly, a gentle urgency in her tone that pleaded him to just… pause for a moment.

 **DRACO** :

He jerks away from her touch violently and turns to stare at her for a moment with his nostrils flaring before recognition seems to cloud his eyes and he backs off slightly. He was a different person in these walls than he was in the real world. He had gotten so good at switching that it was jarring with the reality that the routine of changing was dashed within a single day. It was all jarring and it was now coming back at him in waves.

His parents had received the letter and hadn't responded so surely he was out of a home and after he used up the money he saved he'd be out of that too. Just as he was beginning to rebuild what little reputation he had left where people had begun not to look at him with so much disgust, it was dashed and stomped on by this new revelation.

On the Slytherin side, it was the reality of her being Muggleborn and on everyone else it was the fact that they surely thought he must have tricked her or lured her in because there wasn't any way that Hermione Granger the muggleborn war hero would actually get involved with him on purpose. Too many thoughts were pounding in his head at once and it was beginning to give him a headache.

He hated himself for the fact that a dread grew in his chest.

 _Did you do the right thing?_

 _You could have gone on the way it was._  
 _  
Your parents detest you now. It was all for nothing._

"I still hold the same thoughts of Muggleborns." He says it quickly as if he'd been keeping it in for quite some time. Perhaps he had. Since Slughorn's party when she had gotten so offended over the woman's words. .

"I still **_believe_** them. . Not all of it, but I still do. I just don't consider ** _you_** one in the same with them. I just. . " He seems to pause because there's no way to explain it. He didn't think she was lower than him. He didn't think she was dirty or disgusting or deserved death for her blood status. But that was for her. He wasn't so sure about the others.

Call him a victim of his environment, but the fact still remained.

 **HERMIONE** :

She had backed off the second he snapped to her, feeling instantly out of her element. He was volatile; hostile, but she saw some of the tension ebb away from his face as her presence began to sink in, along with where they were. This place was a haven, but Hermione was quickly coming to the realization that it was a little bit fantastical. They could pretend this was normal, and as the words left his mouth, Hermione absolutely hated herself for thinking – even for a second – that this could have been a _sham_.

A multitude of emotions flickered across her face, though the most prominent was hurt. As if dealing with Ron hadn't been enough, now she needed to face this melancholic tune. Still, she couldn't deny that, compared to how he had been at the beginning of the year, this confession was actually _progress_.

She didn't like the doubt that swirled in her stomach just then, generating an uneasiness that she couldn't tolerate. She clenched her jaw, and suddenly resolved that she refused to abide this doubt. Her fists clenched, just for a moment, digging nails into her palm. Pride had flown out the window and she was raw. It was getting harder to breathe, but she wouldn't back down.

Hermione suddenly didn't care if he had a single doubt in his mind. As long as he was here, she would fight. Tooth and nail, right down to the marrow, she would fight, even if all of it resolved to destroy her completely. The events of today never even factored in anymore. This wasn't about the outsiders; the onlookers. It was about _him_.

It had always been about him.

She stormed forward, not knowing if she looked angry or passionate. It didn't matter. By the time she reached him, she had roughly grasped the front of his _stupid_ , expensive shirt and dragged him down to her level, kissing him as fiercely and as passionately as she possibly could. He could hate muggleborns and muggles all he wanted. He had one kissing him now, and as long as he continued to allow it, she would imprint herself on every single ventricle of him that she could reach. Everything would fade away, and all that would matter was _this_.

 **DRACO** :

They were left there in some sort of limbo that he didn't understand nor ever want to. Things were easier when people were afraid of him. Things had been easier when she avoided him like the plague and so proudly said those words that she would never do anything for him. That she never cared for his attention and never would. They both knew where they stood back then and now? It was more complicated.

He cared for her and that was obvious but it wasn't that easy. Life was never that easy or it wouldn't be so fucking hard to handle. The silence is deafening and he thought that he had scared her off until her face set into one of hardness and he wondered if he too would get the same treatment that Weasley had gotten today.

He thought surely that's what was happening when she gripped his shirt and he prepared himself for the blows but instead her lips crashed against his and suddenly they were a flurry of lips and teeth and body. One of his hands came up to remove her of the bun that bound her hair and away from his grip. When is cascaded down her back he sighed slightly into the kiss. She always erupted a fire in his stomach that he found much too furious to quench.

She made him wild. She made him wild and **free**. This hybrid of a man who finally felt like he belonged to something, and also felt so confused and lost. It was like he was right where he started.

He was angry. Agitated. Upset and confused. When he pulled away for a moment, he just wanted her to hate him. He wanted this to be _easy_ again.

"I watched people die."

 ** _No_**. He reprimanded himself for lying of omission.

"I **_killed_** people, Granger."

 **HERMIONE** :

 _Ride it out. Just ride it out._ The waves were taller than the ship, and it had only taken seconds. Everything prior to this moment felt like being in the eye of a perfect storm. Everything was reaching a calm, and inevitably, they would suffer the threat of capsizing again… and again… and _again_. Hermione might have been a novice at nautical journeys like this, but she would be damned if even the _slightest_ hint of turmoil would make her back down.

She had faced war. Even if this was the most terrifying battle she had ever fought, she would push through.

It was an onslaught. Every fiber of stress or anger that had piled up throughout the day was unleashed in a series of bites and kisses. Her hair was tugged roughly out of its bun and her hair spilled down around her shoulders, still a little damp from her shower that morning. Thick, creamy strawberries flooded the air around them. Light poured through the many windows of this _bloody_ tower, yet they found themselves in the darkness together. She clung to him like he was her last sliver of oxygen, breathing in sharply as she was handled with such little care. It didn't matter. He could bruise her. Whatever he needed to do in order to find peace, she would take it with Gryffindor pride and fierceness.

 _I've_ _ **killed**_ _people, Granger_.

She was breathless now. Chest heaving as though she'd run a mile, and then some. Their bodies were still slightly meshed, even with him pulling away. Hermione stared up at him with wild eyes. A mixture of passion, anger, and something else entirely transcribed on her visage, allowing no room for shock or hatred. He was trying to find the easy way out of this mess they'd created. Hermione didn't care what it took.

She would do all she could to make him _brave_.

Hermione didn't respond. _No_. She wouldn't grant him that luxury. He wanted her to scream and slap and kick, just like she had with Ron. Fine. If he wanted violence, she could give him a taste of his own medicine.

Her mouth was on his again, uncaring for whatever bruises he had, or her own cut on her lip. The pain made her come alive and wince, but she drove through it, suffering deliciously. Her fingers tightened on his shirt and she pressed her body to his a little more, each breath making her chest heave into his, where she could feel the rhythm-less beating of their hearts. Nothing was in sync. Everything was fragmented. All he needed to do was let her keep kissing him.

 **DRACO** :

When it came down to the fact of him it was so obvious. He was a **_coward_**. There wasn't any sort of way to spin it around and make him a hero of his own story. He was too cowardly to say no to anything. He was too cowardly to offer himself up for the lives of his parents. He was too weak to save the people that he watched murdered right in front of his eyes.

The numbness of it all had set in after his Aunt had dragged in some woman that she said knew information on where Potter was hiding. The woman looked so scared and shaking that he knew almost instantly she had nothing worth telling any of them. How do you tell Bellatrix Lestrange she was wrong? He had flinched hard when she'd screamed at him to stop being so spineless. What truly broke him was when his Aunt had dragged in the two sobbing children behind her.

The woman had a silencing charm cast on her but he could make out her words in the mute silence.

' _Don't hurt my babies_ '.

He dealt with the Mother while his Aunt finished off the children.

She was so fucking stubborn and he needed her for it. He fucking needed the violence and the anger all boiling over and exploding into one cataclysm of horror. His hands came to grip her hips and he pushed her so hard against the wall that he could hear her hips hit it with a loud crack. It had to hurt but he didn't care.

Wasn't that the point of this? Wasn't he supposed to make her hurt?

They were wild and nothing matched up in the least. She was a hurricane and he was a tornado and two things that won't give up seldom get out unscathed. They destroy each other.

"I killed **_children_**." He kisses against her lip that has opened up again slightly and he can taste the copper of her blood against his tongue. She was too fucking stubborn. "I chose myself over them. I watched them die without flinching because I was saving myself." His breath is hot against her lips because he's pulled away again just to give her a moment. She had to soak in his words.

 ** _She wasn't running from him yet._**

 **HERMIONE** :

This was what happened when an unstoppable force met an immovable object.

Hermione wrapped herself around him, uncaring for the consequences. By the time her hips were snapped into the wall, she let out a cry against his mouth, but still kissed him in spite of it. Her thighs ached and now, they had wrapped helplessly around his waist, keeping him pinned to her. If he strayed, she wouldn't let him go far. Her determination was a vice; a sin. It was eating her alive, and in turn, she was devouring as much of him as possible.

 _I killed_ _ **children**_.

She whimpered, but not from the facts. She could feel her lip bleeding freely now. Some of it stained his mouth as he hovered over her, drugging her very essence. Inebriated. Still, Hermione hadn't budged an inch, knowing precisely why he was making these confessions. Draco Malfoy had no religion. This was the closest possible thing to an altar he would ever get. Bruises and bite marks became holy trials, and diving into her depths was retribution. Whatever adoration she bestowed, whatever acceptance, whatever love… divine intervention; a blessing. This was the closest thing to faith he could obtain in this life.

By the heavens, she would give him a reason to _believe_.

Ever the graceless, Hermione wove her hand (which still ached from her strikes against Ron) through his hair. Before all this, she would take the time to admire the softness of it; offer him gentility. He didn't need that right now. He needed a brutal catharsis; something unattainable through sentiment. So did she.

Hermione pulled his hair roughly, just to keep him still, digging nails hard into his scalp while her eyes remained fearlessly locked on his.

" _Shut. Up_." Her voice was an effeminate growl, but there was no time to register the terror that shook through her own body from her tone. She had crashed her lips to his before he made a sound, now keeping a tight grip on his hair to keep him from pulling away again.

No more confessions. Now was the time for penance.

It was time for bravery, not honesty.

 **DRACO** :

The cry against his mouth with swallowed and taken, as if he could keep it somewhere in his essence and remember it when he thought he might be good for her. They were violent and one would think that they were enemies with how sharply they moved together. He'd kept it all inside from the very day that the war ended and he abandoned them all on that battlefield. There wasn't anywhere for it to go but to build up in his frame until it overflowed and this was it. This was everything he had.

His scalp burned and it brought him to the present with her because she was there. She was there and blocking out any of the demons that clawed at his mind and told him that this was wrong. That he should be ashamed of this one thing he had in his life he considered beautiful. He'd never had a possession or a person or a feeling as beautiful as this girl made him feel and surely that couldn't be something to damn him to hell for. . Could it?

 ** _I watched women raped and did nothing._**

 ** _I tortured a woman until she didn't understand her own name anymore._**

 ** _I ate like a king while my Aunt starved children in our basement._**

He felt like he'd locked himself in the confessional and wouldn't unlock the door no matter how many people tried to tear it open. He had to confess his sins and have whatever higher power decided these things give him the death sentence he deserved. He kissed her like she was his messiah and she had just come back to this earth to save him.

His hand comes up to curl around her throat and it's shaking and so light against her neck that it's a wonder what he wanted to do. He wants to constrict until she can't give him anymore of the forgiveness he doesn't deserve. He wants to stop that flow of retribution that poured from her lips like sweet tasting wine.

" ** _Stop_**." He whispers finally, panting against her lips and feeling so pathetic.

 **HERMIONE** :

Her throat tensed under his touch. It was fine. Neither of them had anything to be proud of. They were a ruin. War was war, no matter the side you were on. Hermione had done plenty of things she refused to take pride in. There was nothing glorious or heroic about fighting to the death. It was one thing to hear stories about conquerors and warriors taking up arms for their pride and beliefs. Books printed countless victories of soldiers coated in gold, rushing in head-first without fear to stand their ground against a common enemy.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Heroes knew what dirt tasted like. They knew because they dragged themselves through every inch of it with a vice grip of determination. They were questioned and berated at every turn, sometimes by the people who loved them the most. They knew filth because they laid in it. They fought in it. It clawed under their fingernails, along with blood spilled from their enemies, and before long, it felt like a part of them. It felt like _home_.

 ** _Stop_**.

" _No_." Her response was immediate, keeping a firm grip on him. Her voice was trembling with a petrifying resolve; one that she would not slip or stumble on. It made her shake under his touch, but it was a raging storm; a furious sea – an _unstoppable force_. "If you think for a _second_ I don't know, you're dead wrong. I don't care what you say, or what you do, or what you've _done_. I won't stop. I _will_ fight for this. And you can shout, you can scream… you can tell the gods they're cruel, and none of it will matter. I'm _here_ , right now… and I'm _staying_."

 **DRACO** :

 ** _No._**

The word jars him because he had just assumed she would listen to what he had said. He assumed she would fall away from his touch and he could storm off and slam his door and deal with it on his own. He's always dealt with it on his own and her company is suffocating him. She's like an ocean wave that's sucking out every lick of oxygen from his lungs.

She's demanding and beautiful and is wrecking everything in her path and that just so happens to be him. She's killing him with her fingers and her words and those fucking lips that just can't seem to stay away from him. He feels each and every cell in his body reject the notion that he didn't want her to touch him. He wanted to run and deal with it on his own just like he did when he was eight and hiding in the wine cellar away from the screaming of his Father. Just like he did when he was eleven and wiping tears from his eyes when he finally laid down to sleep in his Slytherin bed with the thought of Harry Potter rejecting his friendship.

Just like he did every single time he had to do something he didn't want to do in that god awful war that forced children to become soldiers far before they even know what they wanted to be when they grew up.

He has always put himself back together again with glue and empty prayers said to gods that never seemed to exist and help him. He was crumbling.

The tears are stinging his eyes and he wants to fight them away but they come pouring down his cheeks and his chest is shaking with sobs he can't control anymore. He does this on his own. He wants to be alone.

 ** _"Don't leave."_**

 _Not anymore._

 **HERMIONE** :

Unstoppable force. Immovable object. _This_ was what happened.

She encompassed him entirely, leaving no room for mobility or shame. Every possible limb wrapped around him and Hermione buried her face into his neck, relinquishing the tight grip she had on his hair. Almost instantly, she accommodated him. He begged her not to leave, and she wouldn't.

She would not judge, nor hate, nor forgive. It was not her place.

Gently, Hermione eased him forward, allowing him to bury his shame into her collarbone. She didn't say a single word. It was hard to, when she was choking on her own silent tears. She settled for a silent gesture of acceptance, allowing him to _be_. There were too many times where he had shut himself away and pressed down each fear and doubt… now, it was time to let it spill over her.

After all, if she wasn't alone, then neither was he.

In the process of this, she placed occasional, gentle kiss upon his flesh, leaving the infrequent stain of blood. None of that mattered now. Blood was blood. In retrospect, both their hands were stained. But this was what war did. It made soldiers out of children and when it was over, there was a constant ringing in their ears. The cries of the dead, the calls of the dying, and the screams of the ones left behind. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It all became one, and this was the mess it spat back out.

She kissed everywhere she could reach; every tear she could catch. She clutched him so tightly that sometimes she feared she was constricting his breath. There was no part of him that was close enough.

That was alright.

It would be alright.

 **DRACO** :

Each fiber of his being is telling him to run and that she'll think him weak. It thumps in his head like a demon crawling it's way between his ears and finding solace in a brain that betrayed him. Weakness was the worst of all to harness in their society. It was the one thing beaten out of the children either through violence or emotional torment. Pureblooded children weren't weak. They couldn't be weak to bare the entire bloodline on their shoulders.

Here he was pouring out his tears to her like they were an answer to a riddle she had been asking for so long. He couldn't do it anymore. He just couldn't. His entire body shook with sobs and he mourned the loss of so many things at once that it was hard to even keep track. He mourned the loss of the people he hurt and betrayed. The loss of those he was too weak to help. He mourned the loss of the other recruits that just didn't make the cut. He mourned the loss of himself. Of childhood. Of the person he could have become, if not this.

In a way he even mourned those who had fallen down the path that he had halted himself from going down too deeply. His Aunt had once been a child too broken and too pushed to be greatness that she eventually just snapped. His Mother who had wanted nothing but to protect her children and do right by her family name. He even mourned his father in a way.

She was here and so alive and warm that he couldn't help himself but to cling to her with all the tightness he can muster in his arms. He just can't stop crying. His tears are soaking her clothing and the sound of his wracking sobs are echoing in their safe haven but it doesn't matter. Crookshanks stays well away on the couch as if he understands that this isn't a time to be interrupted.

He's never felt so fucking alive. He's never felt so dead. He's never felt so utterly safe than he did in her arms and through his sobbing he says it because it's true and if he doesn't say it now, he never will. He'll hide behind a wall of emotions and dread and he'll never tell her.

 ** _"I love you."_**

 **HERMIONE** :

The dam cracked, spitting spouts and remnants of something long buried. It was like watching the dead rise from the grave. Every bit of her became sands of time, stripping away his finish, letting out the cracked, damaged layers beneath. Sometimes, even ruins needed to weep.

She wouldn't tell him that it was alright, because it wasn't. Nor could she tell him that he was forgiven… she couldn't speak for the mess of masses who hated him. Hermione couldn't _heal_ him. She was a sanctuary; a shelter. She housed his doubts and confessions, she tucked them away, and she _stayed_ right where she was, like some enduring storm.

Sometime during this breakdown, Hermione had managed to ease him to the floor. She was still straddling his lap, holding him just as tightly as he held her. The witch still said nothing, no matter how hard his shoulders shook against her, slowly battering away at her foundations. Sinewy arms trapped her in this fortress of tears. She trembled as she held him, but she was strong. Her hand smoothed over his spine while her other played idly with his hair.

 _I love you_.

Hermione's eyes snapped shut from the confession, tearing up at the raw, vulnerable sound of his voice. Her arms quivered as she held him tighter to her chest, attempting to shield him more from the world with every bit of her. She was like a force that was trying so hard to guard something broken and innocent. Nothing else would make sense if he fell away. He was the most vulnerable piece of her, and he needed to be protected.

"I _know_ ," she managed finally, her voice nothing above a broken whisper as she clutched him dearly. He needed the reassurance. He needed to know that it wasn't an expected confession. He also needed to know that he wasn't the only one – that the only reason she was here, picking up the pieces of something so grotesque was because there was no way out. "I love you too."

Sniffling, she didn't care about his tears. Her hold relaxed for a moment and it was then she realized how weak she felt. Every ounce of strength had been going into holding him for so long that her muscles were tired. Her fingers shook as she reached for his face, guiding it up to her own. Hermione kissed him again, but this time, she was kind. There was no force, no battering rams. The kiss was raw; salt in the wounds. Still with passion. She cupped his jaw with fragility and kissed him with gentle fervor, pulling back just for a moment so she could wipe away the excess of his tears.

She hadn't met his eyes at first, but when Hermione finally managed the courage, she did. Both of them were painfully open, but that didn't matter now. He was here, and so was she.

"No more running."

The words didn't sound like a warning. They didn't even sound like instruction. They just sounded like… resolve. Fact. Something that was irrevocable and stone-hard.

All the same… it was a promise.


	16. PLAYING DIRTY

**HERMIONE** : Playing dirty had never been Hermione's strong suit. Perhaps she had gotten lucky during extreme situations. Or when the cause of foul ploys had been justified. Still, her fists clenched, she was livid, and he would pay for this. She just didn't know how. After the argument they had the night before, which had caused her to sleep in her own room, Hermione was determined to cut in some way. If he wanted to take the petty route, she could accommodate.

Her eyes skimmed her room for something - anything that could possibly put her on the right track. Each one coming up with a dead end. She had woken up, still furious - showered, still furious - and needed something to compensate.

A light bulb lit up in her mind, which made her chew hard on her left thumbnail. She second guessed. She revised. She found no other solution.

She walked to her dresser, opened the third drawer down, and stared long and hard at the Chudley Cannons sweatshirt. Ugly in color, bold as brass, and sure to send Draco into some crazed frenzy. She paused when she reached for it, but took it out all the same.

No time to second guess now. She had thrown it on and headed out into the common room to start her school work, forcing herself into a more confident air.

Now THIS moment - this, he could use to blame her for being manipulative. She would take the title with the ignorant pride of a Gryffindor.

 **DRACO** :

It was an all-night struggle not to go to her room and climb into bed. It was a struggle not to just relent so he could feel those lips against his neck as she was stirring in the morning. At this point all he was running on was pure unadulterated bitterness which quite honestly fueled him very essence at most times.

All night he tossed and turned and so when the sun came up and he hadn't gotten a lick of sleep, he blamed her. If she could just admit she was wrong, they wouldn't need to fight and none of these issues would ever arise. But no. She was constantly stubborn and so fucking righteous that it boiled his blood.

He was obviously cranky and the bags under his eyes were obvious as he walked into the common room with his boxers on. He was horny and hungry and tired and all three of those things together made for a disgustingly agitated Draco. He almost didn't catch the sweater. Almost.

He walks right past her bitterly before his entire body goes rigid and he backs up with large over dramatic steps as if he had just seen a ghost. His entire face heats up in a redness that translates to pure unadulterated rage and his palms sting with the pain of his nails digging into them.

"What is that?"

 **HERMIONE** :

Hermione tensed a little when she heard him come out of his room, but she breathed deep and counted promptly from one to ten. It helped. A little. But overall, she still felt an angry heat rising in her cheeks from leftover rage.

Her fingers curled tightly around her book, keeping it planted firmly in her lap. Practicing a quiet cool with the fire blazing a few feet from her. The grotesque sweater was hanging off her form. Its fabric was itching her. Nothing like the forest green number Malfoy had gotten her at Christmas. She played hardball and decided to look terribly comfortable in it.

She didn't look up from the words on the page, fully intent on keeping her composure this time. Unlike last night, when she appeared inches away from performing a very traditional slap across his face.

She shifted when he addressed her, sinking further into the cushions of the couch. Her knees were propped up and she had a blanket around her legs.

 _What is that?_

"A book," She replied, sighing almost dreamily as she avoided his strong, raging jealousy entirely.

 **DRACO** :

It was too large on her frame. That was the first thing he noticed. The sweater he had gotten her was tailored and purposely hung slightly off her shoulder for his own viewing pleasure. This one? It was ugly and made for the frame of a man so it dwarfed her body. He hated it. He hated her. There she was sitting so comfortably and simply casual on the couch even though he could practically feel the heat coming off her.

 ** _A book._**

Oh, he wanted to tan her hide.

"You know very fucking well that I did not mean what you were holding, **_Hermione._** "

It actually quite funny about how he used her name. Her last name was his preference and the softness he addressed it with felt as if it was some sort of nickname. Her first name? He had only truly ever used it once or twice and only when trying to press the fact that he was agitated with her. It sounded too harsh on his lips.

"Do you think it's amusing?" He's standing in front of her now and he's always thought it was fascinating how well the body worked when filled with rage. His hand is tearing the book out of her own and tossing it on the love seat before ripping the blanket from around her legs as well.

Oh no. She wasn't going to do this again. She wasn't going to parade around another man when she was _his_. _He_ had taken her first. _He_ had been the first one to feel her back arched off the mattress and into his own stone body.

This was _his_ to take and _his_ to break.

It was _his_ name that her lips spoke when she was at the apex of her pleasure. _His_ hair that got wrapped in such long and tight fingers. _He_ wore the marks of her nails on his back like a badge of pride and reveled in the way the marks at _his_ neck were gawked at by the others. _He_ had claimed and greedily consumed and possessed every single part of what _he_ wanted of her.

That sweater wasn't acceptable.

"Do you enjoy parading him around me?" She's so light, especially when he's angry, and it takes little to no effort to grip her by the shoulders and haul her to a standing position in front of him where he looked down at her with that fire consuming glare. "It's **_ugly_**. It makes ** _you_** ugly." And with this his fingers are gripping the hem of that sweater and pulling it up over her head without any soft gentleness to go with it.

 **HERMIONE** :

This was swiftly becoming a counterproductive practice. Hermione had the pride of a Gryffindor, just as much as she had the temper of one. When it came to the people she was closest to, she was far too emotional to play coy. It was all in the signs as her book was torn from her hands and she shot a hard glare up at him with fire in her cheeks and sparking embers in her eyes. The blanket was ripped from her as well and she was dragged from her spot with a ferocity that she matched in a hard stare. Unafraid, unflinching.

Ever the prideful, both of them.

She shivered now, and she wasn't sure if it was from rage or the sudden chill of the itchy sweater being dragged from her body. She didn't plan this out the smart way, with only a bra and shorts to accommodate the main attraction. She hadn't even been thinking when she put the damn thing on in the first place. She had just wanted to light a fire in him, just like he had done to her the night before. Now, she was standing before him with clenched fists, half-naked, and wearing a seething glare to top off her heated complexion.

"Oh, right, because everything you said last night just made you _so_ attractive," she retorted, hating how emotion choked her throat and made her voice shriller. Perhaps taking pride in this move wasn't something Hermione would be good at in the slightest. It was a petty move, but Merlin, it was worth it to see him lose his cool this way. Particularly after the row they had the night before, when all she had wanted was to lay yet another bloody nose on him.

In spite of all this, of course, Hermione hated even more that she felt a form of excitement. Even in complete, blinding anger, the removal of clothing – when it came to him – put her into the habit of getting riled up. She was forcing herself to ignore that for now.

"I can wear whatever I want, whenever I please, and neither you, nor anyone else, has the right to tell me otherwise!" She was furious now. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. At this rate, _should_ 's and _shouldn't have_ 's weren't important. All that mattered now was that she stood her ground.

Granted, she was at a slight disadvantage, since she was the one half-naked, but that was irrelevant.

 **DRACO** :

That was the one main thing that made them such furious and also riveting row partners. Both of their tempers rose as quickly as wildfire and when they snapped? It was like two volcanoes going off at the same time. Silver hues were staring down at her eyes and then... well, he was human after all. He couldn't not take a peek at everything else. That pit of fire that had begun in his stomach had now burned throughout his chest and ribs just threatening to spill from his lips.

There's a stark silence after she makes her little decree and it feels like there's a ticking in his chest that had just stopped and everything inside of him exploded. He grips the sweater from the ground and for a moment he looks as if he's going to choke her with it before he walks a few steps away. It's unsure what he's doing until he balls up the sweater and throws it directly into the fire where it lights up quite quickly.

He doesn't spare another moment to approach her again with all the anger of a raging bull and kiss her hard and violently. There was no softness or taking time. It was his teeth clashing into hers and his essence swallowing her and locking away the key. Her back is pressed into the wall and his bruising lips have finally broken away from hers.

"I _don't have the right_?" It comes out in a hiss and even though he's already painfully hard against his boxers, he's still so fucking pissed.

Teeth drag across the flesh right above her pulse point and he knows that he'll be leaving a bruise there too. He'd mark her and hurt her and take everything she had if only to show every other living creature that she _belonged to him_. One hand has a tight grip on her hip and the other one is venturing below the waistband of those shorts. It's only a moment before he finds her warm and inviting center and curls his fingers over the bundle of nerves that makes her go wild.

He breaks his teeth away from her flesh so his lips can hover above her own and those rage filled grey eyes can lock with her own fire like brown.

"You're fucking **_mine_** , Granger. Do you understand that?"

 **HERMIONE** :

The blood was aflame now. Everything was smoke and embers. She could have sworn she shouted at him – shouted _something_ – but it was all drowned out as he stormed back to her and within seconds, she was being bruised against the cold stone wall, feeling the chill of one of the countless windows just a few feet from them. Nothing about this was comfortable or even kind. His kisses were bruising and merciless and his fingers were bruising her hips.

Suddenly, he was everywhere, clouding each and every sense she had. The smell of him, the touch, the taste – it was all him. She hated it. She _needed_ it. By the time he broke away from her mouth, she loathed to admit that she may have whimpered in a helpless protest. His teeth were gnawing the flesh from her neck now, making it raw and red – likely to bruise.

She hated that when his fingers delved into her shorts that her hips bucked wildly into his hand on instinct. It was like she had been trained to expect this. Habitually, being graced with these types of touches meant that she was about to be loved very thoroughly. This moment was a polar opposite, yet it never changed the effect.

When he met her eyes and growled out those damnable words, Hermione swallowed hard, but never answered. If she opened her mouth now, her voice would betray her. The mind was already numb and it was already difficult enough to keep on a brave face when – in spite of the bruise in his touch – her body was now shaking hard with a ravenous need, dripping over his fingers.

She clenched her jaw and raised her chin instead, keeping her nails digging roughly into her palms so she could quell the desire to touch him.

 **DRACO** :

She always had this sort of look when she was fighting with herself.

It was the same look he saw years ago when his father confronted the Weasleys at the bookshop. The way that Granger had spoken up without the slightest bit of fear and all of the Gryffindor arrogance and courage that came with that. . Well it made him angry. Just as angry as he had been when his father was chastising him over falling second in grades to a Mudblood. Oh, how he loathed her. How he tried to explain to his father that she was too fucking smart to get around.

His father had asked about her parents and Draco could see it. That fight in her eyes that could only be her inner mind telling her not to say anything back and keep herself in some sort of calm. It was pure stubbornness and any other day he would revel in it.

Today was not that day.

"I asked you a question."

His voice is precise and clear as if it didn't even occur to him that she may remain silent. His touch brings out the response that he had wanted. Dampness greeted his fingers and without any hesitation he's curling two fingers inside of her and is quite keen on making sure that he rubs past that inner spot that makes her knees buckle. If she'd insist on being stubborn he would be the same way.

The hand that had been gripping her hip was now curling around her throat and although he hadn't squeezed hard enough to restrict her airway it was still a touch that did not paint him as the soft lover. It was tight and warning and filled with the fact that he was not currently playing games.

"You. Are. **Mine**. Do you _understand?_ " He repeats a bit louder as if the first time just hadn't sunk into her ears at all.

 **HERMIONE** :

Once upon a time, Hermione had prided herself on independence. She always loathed whenever a girl would fawn over a lover and say that they belonged to one another. The idea of belonging to anyone seemed atrocious. People weren't things to be bought or bartered. They weren't possessions to be kept. Long ago, she had promised herself that she would not _belong_ to anyone but herself.

Of course, this was before she had even considered a relationship with anyone, let alone fell into one with Draco. Now, here she was, a mess of bruises and hitched breaths, involuntarily bucking her hips and simpering as he dipped fingers into tightness and dug almost painfully deep. Now, she was hating herself for responding so well to the idea of belonging to him. She was hating how her bra suddenly felt stifling, and how her knees were ready to give out when he pushed viciously past a spot that ached for him.

By the time his hand met her throat, the cold of the room didn't bother her anymore. It was the coldness of _him_ that she couldn't stand. In spite of better judgment or validated arguments, Hermione found herself needing that warmth far more than she felt the need to be right. She was breaking in the sweetest and most vicious way.

Her body shifted and writhed when his fingers hit a particular spot that she had grown rather fond of. Her hand snapped instinctively to his wrist. When she shifted, her airway closed for a moment and air caught in her throat. In that momentary panic, as her passion clouded her better judgment, she whimpered out the thing he wanted to hear… and the thing she hated being true.

"Y—yes… _yes_ …"

 **DRACO** :

There was always something about the way it felt to consume something so innocent that made Draco's spine tingle. She was the brightest witch of her age and was always held at such a high place in the world that he would never attain to or reach. Bad people weren't meant to be loved after all. He had taken her from that podium that everyone had always held her on and corrupted everything he could reach.

The toys he owned in childhood were always beautiful and expensive and when he was told to share he would break them all and watch them crack just so that he wouldn't need to give away something he owned. He would break something he loved if it meant that he didn't need to give it away. He had always been called this force of nature with poison in his touch. Draco reeled those around him in with false hope, only to rip them apart and watch them crumble before him. He wanted to break her and make her truly know what he was.

He knows the way she moves and bucks against him. He knows the signs that she is melting into compliance under his hands. On any normal day he was always a bit tense around that scar on her arm. The look of it had finally really settled in his brain so he never left or flinched anymore but his frame was always rigid. There was no time for that now. In this passion nothing else existed. There had never been a war or two different sides or the differences of blood and opinion. Nothing existed outside of the way she mewled against him when he hit a particular spot that she adored.

 ** _I don't care if you wear that ugly thing. It means nothing to me, just as your relationship and you mean nothing to me._**

That had been what he said the first time he saw her in that fucking sweater. It was only now that he realized he had been lying through his teeth.

Her fingers curl around his wrist and there's a smug pleasure that rises in his throat at the very prospect of making her feel so much pleasure that she couldn't physically handle it. That confirmation was his absolute undoing and it was mere seconds that his hands spent relieving her of her bra and her shorts and pushing his own boxers down his legs. It was painful how hard he was and it seemed a distant memory how he took care of it before they had started sleeping together. Now it was just _her_.

 _Only her._

Smooth but strong hands hoist her thighs up so her legs wrap around his waist and everything inside of him freezes over. Granger's back is pressed to the wall and he holds her up as if she weighs nothing. Quite honestly in this state of adrenaline he hardly notices that he's carrying her.

Draco doesn't take his time to enter her or have her feel each curvature of himself as he pushes inside. It's a thrust that makes white hot coals shoot up his spine and surround him in the almost painful warmth. There's not even the smallest hint of hesitation as he pulls himself from her again and just does the same thing. He's thrusting inside of her like an animal might to reach conception. It's not emotional or loving or gentle. He's taking what he coveted from another.

There wasn't even a pause at the sound of skin scraping against stone. Her back might be in shreds by the time he was done but he didn't care. There was no care to give.

 **HERMIONE** :

The sweater was a very distant memory. Outstanding, how every piece of the puzzle that lead them to this point just faded away. Hermione couldn't even bother trying to remember what they were fighting about in the first place. Everything was a swirl of limbs, pain, and pleasure, and she found herself incapable of focusing on anything outside of him. While the Cannons became embers in the fireplace, she raged with new flame while she was stripped bare and drilled into against the wall.

The flesh of her back was beginning to scrape and tear against hard, cold stone, jostling with every merciless snap of his hips into her own. Sharp and precise. Her fingers had caved to their own desires and while one hand habitually threaded tightly through his hair, the other was raking nails over the back of his shoulder, digging talons in deep. She was leaving her own marks and didn't even realize that her body was learning the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts and swiveling at their own pace, just to give a little added pleasure for the both of them.

She was a shaking leaf in his arms now; a ball of putty that he could mold to whatever shape he saw fit. Hermione once hated the idea of being branded or claimed, but now, it was the only thing that seemed to make her feel alive. It was why her hips twisted rhythmically against his own; it was why she mewled and whimpered like a helpless kitten; it was why she clawed at him, wanting blood under her fingernails.

Still, there was an annoying nagging in the back of her mind that called out to the last sliver of functioning logic in her brain. It crashed through the back door and brought her attention forward, forcing her to meet his silver eyes, which seemed so distant and icy. Her fingers fell to cup either side of his face, knowing that her voice would sound broken and helpless as she called out to him. There was an overbearing pain in her back that the adrenaline was helping her ignore. She drew in a sharp breath when the head of him struck a chord buried deep in her heat, clenching hard around him. It was a reminder that she needed to say this fast and get it over with.

"Con—contraception…" she whispered. Her voice was broken now, but she was forcing out the words, already appearing as though she hated herself for even bringing it up. "My… my wand's on the couch."

 **DRACO** :

The way she so easily melted into him was like a godsend and he wanted absolutely nothing more than to just rut inside of her until his own frustrations and angry jealousy were out in the open air. He swallows her pants and whimpers and throws away the key to his memories of them. He wants to know what her breaking under him sounds like. He wants to savor it. Each curvature and ribbed hug of her walls felt as if they were made just for him. It felt as though she was a gift from the gods that told him he had done some sort of good.

He can feel the pressure of his skin beneath her nails and it's not long until that pressure falls to her touch and he can feel the wetness of blood welling up on his flesh. She's always been strong and tightened to what she believed in. By the gods he would make her believe in him above all other things. His scalp burned along with the pain on his back but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the way she wriggled her hips beneath his own animalistic urges just so more pleasure would spike up their spines.

Her hands are touching either side of his face and she sounds far away or perhaps like she's underwater. What? Those clouded grey eyes come slightly clearer and he's heard what she said finally. _Contraception_. He'd forgotten the charm and it caused a dread to shoot into his very stomach. The thought of stopping right now made every fiber of his body protest. His brain even tried to reason 'what's so bad about having a kid? You can't stop.' And for a solid three seconds he seemed to consider this as a viable option.

That was until logic screamed and won out. Children weren't on his list of things he needed nor wanted. One arm wraps around her waist to keep her flush against him as he walked them both to the couch and easily sat down so she was straddling him. It took perhaps a fraction of a second for him to grip her wand and whisper the charm before throwing the wand haphazardly back on the couch.

Long fingers of his right hand come up to wrap in those beautifully intoxicating curls and with a tightening of his jaw he pulled it back so her neck was completely bared to his onslaught of kisses. Other hand finds its way to her hip to begin her rising and falling on top of him with hard sharp snaps.

He'd care about her orgasm some other time. He needed this.

When that hot apex of pleasure washes over him it's like a kiss from the devil. This is the only thing he wanted to do all day, every day, for the rest of his life. Almost immediately, he mentally thanks her for remembering the contraception, given how much he fills her.

 **HERMIONE** :

She gave a small squeak of relief while he tugged her from the cold sharpness of the wall. She felt trickles of crimson life seeping from scrapes against her spine and as his palms pressed against the ragged flesh, it stung, but that was alright. It wasn't about her anymore. It was about the comfort of him.

Upon reaching the couch, she released a small sigh of relief from the warmth of the flickering fireplace and the comfortable cushions under her knees. The logical part of her was hushed the moment the charm had been uttered and she succumbed to the motions, hardly registering that she was actually on top during this round. At least, until his hips began jarring against her own, and all sorts of new angles were struck from the fresh position.

If it had gone on any longer, Hermione was positive she would have reached an earth-shattering climax of her own. She had even whimpered in minor protest when he held her in place and filled her completely. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Still, in the midst of numbing pleasure that stopped far too quickly, she was still wrapped in him. Her fingers never left the comfort of his hair and her nails had blood and sweat dug beneath them, between bone and flesh.

Her hips continued on with a soft, gentle rocking, still trembling in an aftershock of an earthquake that shattered all her former inhibitions. Her fingers softened their hold on him, eventually just running gently through his hair and occasionally scraping her nails against his scalp as personal reminders that she would get another fill of him later on; a proper one.

When she felt like she had found her voice again, she pressed a bruised kiss to his temple, wincing a bit from the pain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally, slamming her eyes shut from the words as her body still trembled in his hold. The words were true, even though they were broken.

 **DRACO** : Her body curls around him like vines, promising to bring him a better tomorrow. She's beautiful and warm and so completely _his_ that it's a comfort to his very soul that she had coveted from him. There's a slight guilt in his stomach that she hasn't had the same earth shattering experience that he had, but there was always time on their side. Time was the only thing they seemed to have an abundance of nowadays. That insistent grip leaves her hair and both hands rest so delicately on her hips that it's jarring to think he was the same man who had her so painfully pressed to him only a few moments ago.

Her lips cause him to pay attention and her words flood in his ears and calm the beast that wanted to emerge from his chest. Their fights never ended in apologies. They either had sex, or ignored the past situation completely by meeting one another at the piano, or during one of her long bouts of silence he would crawl onto the couch where she was reading. His head would rest in her lap and she always tried to fight it but eventually her fingers would begin to run through his hair and everything was well again.

His lips pressed to the underside of her jaw and he sighs softly against the sweat touched skin he finds there. "You get me so fucking pissed sometimes." It's a statement that he's always found to be true. She had a knack of knowing exactly how to let this beast he liked to push away, suddenly come out and dance along the walls. He remained inside of her because quite honestly he didn't want to even be that separated. It seemed as if she'd be too far away.

Grey hues take in the purple markings along her neck and he notices that they are far above where her collar will end. His jaw twitches and he pulls away slightly from her. Hands come up to rest at either side of her face and there's a sort of mischief in his eyes. "Want to make it up to me?" He whispers, although he's continuing before she even answers.

"Don't charm these away." His thumb runs down her jaw and neck to where the obvious bruises are most prominent. "Wear your hair up tomorrow." Just the very thought has his stomach churning with pleasure again. It's pure possession that makes this an exciting thing for him. The fact that everyone will see the bruises that he created.

 **HERMIONE** :

In spite of the comment, a smile touched her lips. Wasn't this all what made passion so… passionate? The idea that you want to smother your lover with a pillow, just as much as you want to make them cry out into one? She massaged his scalp gently and enjoyed the sweaty texture of his bright hair while he pulled back and gazed at her with unmistakable mischief in his eyes.

Hermione breathed out a small laugh at the question and had opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off when he continued. For a brief moment, a fraction of pleasurable shock flashed across her features and her jaw dropped a sliver. She had momentarily forgotten that she was still throbbing for her own sense of completion, but was swiftly reminded when her hips rocked and she felt a new wave of dampness coating him.

She was trying to ignore the odd, riveting sensation of cum dripping along her walls. It was difficult when she still had him buried to the hilt with her body still quivering. As much as she might have hated to succumb to his wayward pleasures, a more primitive part of her would always thoroughly enjoy this.

Hermione swallowed hard and feigned stubbornness, even though it was matched with a healthy smile.

"Hmm…" she dragged out the ragged temptation, putting on an excellent 'thinking face' while she considered the option. She reached up with one hand and tapped her bottom lip, biting it gently. "I would have a lot of explaining to do, you know… I might even get a hard time from Ginny, maybe Luna… maybe Cormac… I might need some convincing, but…" she eventually nodded curtly to herself and returned her wide-eyed gaze to him as she finalized her decision with an infuriating, "I'll think about it."


End file.
